A,  H,  VAN  GUYSL1NG,  Bailee 


*  » 

\ 


LOS  A* 


A     SOCIAL 
COCKATRICE 


A    SOCIAL 

COCKATRICE 

ByFREDERICK  W.  ELDRIDGE 


LOTHROP      PUBLISHING 
COMPANY  BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT, 


BY 

L  O  T  H   R  O  P 

PUBLISHING 

COMPANY. 

ALL      RIGHTS      RESERVED 

Published  February,  1903 


A     SOCIAL 
COCKATRICE 


2135296 


A    SOCIAL 
COCKATRICE 

CHAPTER   I. 

HE  left  New  Orleans  clad  in  confidence  and 
showering  promises.    Her  last  word  trilled 
from  the  Pullman  car  window  was  an  epit- 
ome of  anticipation. 

"  You  must  come  to  Newport  next  summer, 
girls,"  she  cried.  "  I  will  have  a  villa  then. 
Meantime  watch  Fifth  Avenue." 

The  group  on  the  platform  applauded. 
"  You  can't  help  being  a  sensation,  Beatrice." 
"  Climb  on  the  wall,  dearest  —  then  you  can 
pull  us  all  up." 

"  We'll  follow  you  in  the  society  papers,"  and 
then  the  clamour  of  the  engine-bell  cut  in  on 
the  pelting  farewells,  the  wheels  groaned  and 

ii 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

screeched,  and  the  train  rolled  heavily  away  to 
the  North. 

Beatrice  Cameron  watched  the  company  fade 
to  an  agitated  cloud  of  handkerchiefs,  and  drew 
away  from  the  window  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Thank  Heaven,"  she  said,  addressing  her  sis- 
ter, "  we  are  out  of  the  nursery."  She  leaned 
back  in  her  seat  and  smiled.  "  Lovely  people 
in  New  Orleans,  of  course,  but,  Edith,  we  are 
going  to  New  York." 

Edith  nodded  blankly. 

"  We  are,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  hope  it  will 
not  be  a  case  of  marching  up  the  hill  and  down 
again.  I  should  not  like  to  see  you  disappointed." 

"Why  should  I  be?" 

"Excuse  my  pessimism,  dear;  we  have  just 
left  our  shell." 

"  We  are  rich." 

"  You  oppose  that  shield  to  every  difficulty." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  a  better  one." 

"  But  you  do  not  dignify  our  quest.  We  are 
not  buying  gowns;  there  are  no  bargains  in  so- 
cial passports.  Are  you  to  invade  New  York 
crying :  '  I  demand  to  enter  society !  Make  way 
for  wealth'?" 

Beatrice  laughed  happily. 

"  In  effect,  yes.    Auntie,  of  course,  will  play 

12 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

herald.  Don't  be  timid,  Edith.  I  expect  we  shall 
take  our  place  as  a  matter  of  certified  right." 

"  Let  us  hope  so,"  said  Edith,  quietly.  "  My 
sympathy  is  incidental,  but  you,  Beatrice,  have 
made  of  society  a  fetich." 

Beatrice  gazed  at  the  flying  landscape  without 
reply.  Into  her  eyes  crept  visions,  and  her  lips 
compressed  tightly.  Suddenly  she  turned  to  her 
sister,  and,  bending  forward,  tapped  her  hand. 

"  You  are  moderate,"  she  cried,  a  little  excite- 
ment in  her  voice.  "  What  you  rate  an  odd 
ambition,  Edith,  is  the  first  passion  of  my  life. 
In  all  the  world  there  is  to  me  nothing  so  im- 
portant as  caste.  You  may  as  well  appreciate 
this,  for  I  shall  demand  your  aid.  We  are  ob- 
scure, we  are  primitive,  and  because  I  know  this 
my  whole  soul  cries  out  for  the  other  extreme. 
I  cannot  imagine  a  price  I  am  unwilling  to  pay." 

"That  is  fantastic,  Beatrice." 

"  Not  so.  I  believe  the  so-called  aristocracy 
a  superior  civilisation.  Take  that  interest  nearest 
your  own  heart  —  religion,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Charity." 

"  Translate  it  society,  multiply  it  past  reckon- 
ing, and  you  have  my  master  desire." 

Edith  studied  her  sister  curiously. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "  it  seems  so  trivial." 

13 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  I  have  no  excuses  to  make,  Edith.  Normal 
ambitions  pass  me  by.  Ideals  of  love,  of  home, 
of  usefulness,  sting  me  with  dreariness.  A  speech 
that  Madame  Taliaferro  made  is  my  key-note  of 
existence.  I  met  her  at  the  Lantern  ball.  She 
looked  me  over  kindly.  '  Why  not  climb  Olym- 
pus ? '  she  said ;  '  you  are  wasting  your  time, 
child.' 

"  '  And  Olympus  —  is  where  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  By  the  Hudson,'  she  answered.  '  They  are 
waiting  for  you  there.' ' 

A  flicker  of  mirth  passed  over  Edith's  face. 

"  I  thought  Olympus  was  a  close  corporation," 
she  ventured. 

Beatrice  flushed  angrily. 

"If  you  cannot  take  a  serious  view  of  my 
hope,  Edith,"  she  said,  "  at  least  avoid  ridi- 
cule. I  —  " 

"  Pardon  me  again,  Beatrice,"  said  Edith,  hur- 
riedly, "  I  merely  wondered  at  your  confidence. 
Some  passages  in  this  society  novel  I  have  here, 
suggested  my  fear.  I  want  you  to  hear  them, 
for,  in  a  way,  it  is  a  text-book  of  the  organisa- 
tion. It  is  not  kind  to  the  middle  class." 

"  We  are  not  middle  class." 

"  Not  in  New  Orleans  —  in  New  York  I  do 
not  know.  Hear  what  confronts  you :  — 

14 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  '  No  siege  of  city,  no  investment  of  camp, 
can  match  the  strenuous  campaign  of  the  Amer- 
ican middle  class  to  force  the  barriers  of  capi- 
talised seclusion.  It  is  a  spectacle  of  the  century. 
By  night  and  day  the  struggle  presses  —  consum- 
ing heart  and  conscience,  leaving  on  its  skirmish 
grounds  monuments  of  folly,  sorrow,  and  crime. 
Golden  battering-rams  crash  and  shatter  on 
golden  barricades,  axes  fashioned  of  dollars  hew 
fortifications  of  bullion.  Here  and  there  a  breach 
is  made,  but  more  often  the  assailants,  bereft 
of  weapons  and  exhausted  of  spirit,  fall  back  to 
oblivion  and  discontent  —  ' 

"  That's  true,"  cried  Beatrice,  nodding.  "  You 
remember  Mrs.  Caston.  Because  she  stumbled 
over  the  lineage  line  in  Philadelphia,  she  is  a 
fervent  democrat." 

'  Others,  less  valorous  but  more  cunning, 
bribe  the  keepers  of  the  gates,  and  then,  turning, 
man  the  outer  walls  against  their  comrades  in 
arms.  From  all  the  assailing  camps  one  banner 
floats  eternally  aloft.  On  every  standard  the 
cabalistic  letters  Bradstreet's  or  Dun's  A.  A. 
are  the  warriors'  warrant, —  certificate  alike  to 
friend  and  foe.  They  are  at  once  the  reason  and 
the  means, —  ammunition  and  password.  With- 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

out  heart,  without  genius  or  generosity,  but  not 
the  commission  of  Dun  and  Bradstreet.' ' 

Edith  stopped  and  looked  up.    Her  sister  was 
not  impressed. 

"  I  do  not  see  the  point,"  she  remarked.  "  You 
read  confirmation  of  my  belief.  The  sine  qua  non 
is  money  —  we  have  money ;  lots  of  it." 
"  Money  is  merely  ammunition." 
"  Then  rely  on  my  learning  how  to  use  it." 
Edith  closed  the  book,  and  viewed  her  sister 
with  a  new  interest.  Her  familiarity  with  this 
strong  ambition  was  only  casual.  That  it  could 
excite  such  declarations,  that  it  had  been  deified, 
was  a  puzzle.  And  as  she  noted  the  emotion  in 
the  beautiful  face  opposite,  she  was  forced  to 
admit  that,  however  worthless  the  ambition,  it 
was  real  and  absorbing.  She  could  herself  feel 
no  sympathy.  Both  character  and  temperament 
put  her  out  of  touch,  and  her  disposition  was  to 
look  on  social  distinctions  as  unimportant. 
Society  she  regarded  as  a  harvest  ground  for 
friendships  —  the  sphere  beloved  of  Beatrice  was 
something  vague  and  artificial. 

A  sudden  stir  at  the  far  end  of  the  car  broke 
in  on  Edith's  reverie,  and  she  saw  several  people 
gather  about  one  of  the  chairs.    She  was  on  her 
feet  in  an  instant. 
16 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  There  is  something-  the  matter  with  that  poor 
invalid  woman,"  she  explained  to  Beatrice.  "  I 
will  ask  what  the  trouble  is." 

She  was  back  again  in  a  moment,  her  face  full 
of  sympathetic  interest. 

"  Let  me  have  your  smelling-salts,  Beatrice," 
she  said,  "  she  is  very  weak.  We  shall  have  to  do 
the  best  we  can  until  we  reach  the  next  station." 

Beatrice  slipped  the  crystal  bauble  from  its 
chain. 

"  Take  it,"  she  said,  impatiently,  "  and  keep  it, 
Edith.  I  can  never  use  it  after  some  sick 
stranger." 

"  It  is  hardly  fair,"  admitted  Edith,  smiling, 
"  but  I  will  get  you  its  twin  in  New  York." 

She  hurried  away  with  the  pungent  restora- 
tive, and  Beatrice,  swinging  her  seat  about,  could 
see  that  she  had  taken  active  charge  of  the  un- 
fortunate. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  remarked  Beatrice, 
when  Edith  returned  again,  "  why  an  invalid  like 
that  should  be  without  attendance.  She  is  foisted 
on  the  public  by  her  friends." 

"  She  is  poor,  I  imagine,  that's  why,"  said 
Edith,  bluntly,  "  and  she  is  only  going  to  Mobile. 
I  suppose  her  friends  thought  she  could  get 
through  such  a  short  run  without  trouble.  If 

17 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  sit  with  her  awhile. 
She  is  coming  around  nicely." 

"  There  seem  to  be  several  people  nearer.  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Her  neighbours,"  cried  Edith,  laughingly, 
"  why,  when  she  fainted,  they  almost  followed 
suit.  Those  people,  Beatrice,"  she  whispered, 
mischievously,  "  are  society  folk." 

Beatrice  sat  for  a  long  while  alone,  and  most 
of  the  time  she  was  thinking  of  her  sister,  — 
this  sister  who  was  to  her,  through  much  sep- 
aration, almost  a  stranger.  For  the  first  time 
in  their  lives  they  were  beginning  an  intimacy, 
and  the  unfolding  of  Edith's  peculiarities  had 
been  for  Beatrice  a  constant  surprise.  She 
watched  the  girl  moving  about  the  invalid's  chair, 
and  the  sight,  although  unappealing,  impressed 
her  as  characteristic.  She  was  dainty  and  smart ; 
her  face  a  picture,  and  her  gown  a  model;  yet 
she  was  nurse  to  a  stranger  whom  half  the  peo- 
ple in  the  car,  herself  included,  viewed  as  a 
nuisance. 

It  harmonised  with  the  history  that  Beatrice 
ran  over  in  lazy  review.  In  Edith's  childhood 
and  womanhood  it  had  always  been  the  same,  - 
nothing  usual,  nothing  normal,  but  a  slavery  to 
charity  as  strange  as  it  was  persistent.  She  had 
18 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

always  found  pleasure  in  labours  hateful  to  youth 
and  foreign  to  her  station. 

Beatrice  remembered  that,  even  when  a  little 
girl,  Edith  had  conducted  a  hospital  for  wounded 
cats;  later  it  was  a  school  for  orphans,  and 
when  her  father  died  her  money  was  drained  for 
benefactions  without  end.  And  to  all  of  this  work 
she  had  given  personal  attention.  While  Beatrice 
was  rambling  in  Europe,  Edith  had  stayed 
at  home,  and  made  the  air  of  New  Orleans 
sweeter  by  her  presence.  She  remembered,  too, 
how  Edith  would  come  from  some  scene  of  pov- 
erty, weak  and  disheartened,  and  how  their  father 
would  storm  his  protest.  "  Why  don't  you  travel 
like  Beatrice?  "  he  had  cried.  "  You  are  killing 
yourself,  and  you  are  disgracing  me."  But  the 
rumour  of  suffering  always  drove  her  forth 
again,  and  charity  became  in  time  a  fixed  habit. 
Only  the  earnest  things  of  life  seemed  to  touch 
Edith.  To  the  common  distractions  of  girlhood 
she  gave  but  scant  attention.  Such  work  could 
only  debase  or  uplift.  In  Edith's  case  it  had 
made  for  gentleness  and  a  refinement  of  temper. 
Beatrice  could  not  recall  her  other  than  placid, 
except  on  one  occasion,  and  in  New  Orleans  that 
occasion  was  historic.  Edith  had  stopped  a  cart 
in  the  street,  and  demanded  that  the  driver  re- 

19 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

move  the  horse.  For  answer,  he  had  raised  his 
whip  to  lash  the  wretched  beast,  when  she  ran 
forward,  and,  snatching  it  away,  struck  him 
fairly  across  the  face.  Then  she  held  the  horse's 
bridle  until  a  policeman  came. 

But  despite  the  appeal  of  these  labours,  Bea- 
trice could  not  remember  that  she  had  been  sym- 
pathetic. She  was  not  sympathetic  now,  and  she 
even  turned  to  the  window  with  a  little  sigh  at 
the  dreariness  of  it  all.  It  was  much  pleasanter 
to  think  of  New  York. 

And  Edith,  watching  the  invalid  drifting  into 
sleep,  also  thought  of  her  sister.  Far  more  than 
Beatrice  she  felt  the  reproach  of  their  separation. 
When  their  father  died,  and  Beatrice  determined 
on  migration,  Edith  had  welcomed  this  chance 
for  closer  contact.  But  she  was  gradually  real- 
ising that  the  points  of  contact  were  few.  From 
eyebrows  to  morals  they  seemed  to  have  nothing 
in  common.  Even  their  types  of  beauty  touched 
the  extremes  of  rivalry,  and  Edith  suspected  that 
their  intellectual  and  moral  standards  were  even 
further  apart. 

In  her  essays  at  friendship  Edith  had  made 
discoveries.  Beatrice  was  headstrong,  her  tem- 
per was  uncertain,  and  she  was  selfish.  Also  she 
lacked  reverence.  Edith  did  not  doubt  that,  if 

20 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Beatrice  failed  with  ordinary  methods,  she  was 
quite  ready  to  use  extraordinary  means  held  in 
reserve.  How  far,  for  instance,  would  she  go 
to  attain  society?  She  was  still  thinking  of  this 
even  after  she  had  helped  the  invalid  alight  at 
the  station,  and  she  went  back  to  Beatrice  eager 
to  sound  her. 

"  Suppose,  Beatrice,"  she  asked,  abruptly, 
"you  should  find  the  gates  closed?"  Beatrice 
looked  at  her  in  surprise.  She  had  expected  to 
hear -of  the  invalid. 

"  Then  I  should  follow  the  book,  and  blow  or 
buy  them  open." 

"  But  suppose,"  persisted  Edith,  "  even  that 
failed?  What  then?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Beatrice,  with  a  slow 
smile.  "  I  cannot  tell.  But  I  will  never  stay 
outside." 

And  in  this  imperious  spirit  Beatrice  Cameron 
came  to  New  York,  with  maids,  much  baggage, 
and  an  antipodal  sister,  who  hoped  for  the  best. 


21 


CHAPTER   II. 

/T  was  to  be  expected  that  an  uninformed 
Southern  girl,  and  one  blind  to  conditions, 
should  fail  in  her  selection  of  ways  and 
means.  She  was  besides  heedlessly  eager.  But 
that  Beatrice  should  select  an  aunt  merely  rich 
and  of  genealogical  strength,  suggests  the  depths 
of  her  credulity.  She  spent  months  scouting  the 
outposts.  It  was  an  absorbing  period,  and  the 
awakening  came  slowly.  She  exchanged  the  even 
atmosphere  of  the  Southern  capital  for  the  cross 
currents  of  the  most  interesting  life  in  the  me- 
tropolis. It  was  the  vast  and  pretentious  middle 
ground  between  the  unimportant  and  the  avowed 
plutocracy.  Rather  than  a  festival  of  butterflies, 
she  found  existence  saturated  with  the  spirit  of 
business.  She  met  strong  men  and  ambitious 
women.  She  met  bankers,  and  lawyers,  and 
leaders  of  the  arts,  all  in  the  most  delightful 
community,  and  she  met  the  wives  of  these 
money-makers,  the  women  who  spent  the  money, 
and  rivalled  the  labours  of  Hercules  in  social 
22 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

activities.  She  encountered,  too,  interesting 
specimens  of  the  parasites,  who,  by  dint  of  genius 
or  craft,  manage  to  attach  themselves  to  chariots 
bought  by  others. 

In  the  beginning  Beatrice  permitted  herself  to 
believe  that  this  sphere  was  the  antechamber 
to  Nirvana.  There  was  quite  enough  extrava- 
gance, quite  enough  spectacle,  to  justify  her  in 
accepting  the  community  at  its  own  valuation. 

It  was  to  the  newspapers,  indeed,  that  she 
owed  revelation.  These  never  wearied  of  re- 
adjusting the  plutocratic  lines  until  they  could 
catalogue  a  precise  "  aristocracy."  Of  the  doings 
of  any  but  these  ticketed  divinities  they  refused 
to  take  notice.  Names  were  added  and  names 
subtracted,  and  the  jockeying  for  journalistic 
position  seemed  to  be  the  first  duty  of  the  aspir- 
ant. When  she  grasped  the  poverty  of  her  out- 
look, she  attacked  her  relative. 

"  Auntie,"  she  said,  waving  the  Globe's  latest 
roster,  "  our  people  are  not  in  society." 

"  How  —  what  —  what  people  ?  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  Why,  these  people  with  whom  we  are  asso- 
ciated —  our  set,  I  should  say  —  are  not  in  so- 
ciety— not  even  in  society's  back  yard,  apparently. 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

You  led  me  to  believe  they  were  the  first  men 
and  women  in  New  York." 

Mrs.  Lambert  stiffened  like  the  snap  of  a 
whalebone. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  mean  the  friends  with 
whom  I  have  brought  you  in  contact?" 

"  Yes,  the  Fannings,  the  Aliens,  the  Webers. 
One  never  hears  of  their  association  with  the 
leaders.  You  never  read  of  their  yachts  nor  their 
automobiles,  nor  their  rapid-fire  divorces.  In 
fact,  you  rarely  see  their  names  in  the  papers, 
and  Willie  Gotham  even  ignores  their  scandals, 
which  I  think  are  quite  as  numerous  and  every 
bit  as  ugly  as  the  Newport  variety." 

"  Beatrice,  you  are  amazing.  I  am  to  infer, 
then,  that  unless  canonised  by  Willie  Gotham  one 
is  outcast?  " 

"  Well,  hardly  as  bad  as  that,  auntie.  But 
when  we  have  to  die  to  get  the  attention  bestowed 
on  a  Pierrepont  tea,  it  argues  something  shaky 
in  our  claims.  The  other  day,  when  Mr.  Van 
Dorn  bought  the  best  box  at  the  Horse  Show, 
the  Herald  spoke  of  him  as  a  Mr.  Van  Dorn. 
With  us,  you  know,  Van  Dorn  is  colossal." 

"  He  is  a  descendant  of  one  of  the  first  Dutch 
settlers  of  New  York." 

"  Oh !   then  he  is  a  Knickerbocker  ?  " 
24 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  What  more,  pray !  "  cried  Mrs.  Lambert. 
"  It  is  silly  to  bracket  such  a  lineage  with  the 
money-bags.  He — " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Beatrice,  crisply,  "  I  am 
not  trying  to  rub  the  fur  the  wrong  way.  I  am 
in  New  York  to  go  into  society,  —  the  society 
that  gets  its  name  in  type,  that  is  deified  and 
envied  by  the  rest  of  the  land ;  and  I  am  not  ready 
to  compromise.  The  fact  that  your  men  and 
women  are  pillars  of  the  community  is  nothing 
to  me.  They  are  not  Cliff  Walk  divinities,  and 
they  do  not  set  the  pace  for  the  nation.  When 
I  came  to  you  I  supposed  your  passport  meant 
freedom  of  the  lines.  You  are  as  badly  off  as 
I  am." 

She  paused,  her  eyes  glowing  resentfully. 

Mrs.  Lambert  felt  the  shock  of  an  ambushed 
assault.  Her  cheeks  flamed,  and  reproaches 
crowded  to  her  tongue.  But  in  the  very  mar- 
shalling of  her  arguments  she  collapsed. 

"  Beatrice,"  she  murmured,  feebly,  "  it  is  too 
absurd.  Let  us  go  to  luncheon." 

The  surrender  was  the  beginning  for  Mrs. 
Lambert  of  a  long  season  of  unrest.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  family  pride,  she  had  undertaken  to  launch 
her  nieces  in  the  diversified  company,  which  was 
all  she  knew,  but  which  she  regarded  as  the 

25 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

mountain-top  of  caste.  There  was  no  deceit  in 
the  matter;  her  point  of  view  simply  did  not 
admit  the  plutocracy  adored  of  Beatrice.  She 
did  not  understand  the  proposition,  and  she  did 
not  see  how  any  one  else  could.  Her  friends  had 
ancestors  and  money,  and  a  standard  that  played 
off  dividends  against  descendants  was  beyond  her 
horizon. 

Beatrice  revived  the  issue  cruelly.  She  used 
to  waylay  Mrs.  Lambert  in  transports  of  sarcasm 
over  some  new  proof  of  the  social  evolution. 
She  would  show  in  figures  a  percentage  of  one 
thousand  to  one  in  favour  of  Newport  notoriety ; 
she  crowed  over  the  Assembly  lists,  and  she  blud- 
geoned her  aunt  with  newspaper  clippings  until 
the  poor  lady  rued  the  day  when  her  wings  folded 
over  such  a  porcupine  of  ambition. 

"  Beatrice,"  she  cried,  "  why  don't  you  return 
to  New  Orleans?  Why  waste  time  with  my 
cheap  substitute?  " 

"  Because,  auntie,  the  experience  is  useful.  I 
am  fitting  myself  to  enter  society,"  and,  when 
Mrs.  Lambert  grew  properly  crimson,  she 
laughed  and  fled. 

But  if  New  York  disappointed  Beatrice,  her 
sister  found  in  its  darker  part  a  new  and  mighty 
interest.  The  East  Side  was  to  Edith  a  Sahara 
26 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

of  woe.  She  had  not  believed  such  misery  could 
live,  and,  while  it  appalled  her,  its  challenge  was 
clear.  The  very  magnitude  of  the  odds  made  her 
eager.  She  set  about  studying  the  situation  and 
the  best  method  of  attack.  When  she  decided 
that  personal  work  only  could  ensure  results,  she 
did  not  spare  herself  by  hour  or  day.  In  time 
she  came  to  know  the  noble  workers  who  pre- 
ceded her,  and  made  friends  of  them  by  impartial 
contributions. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  they  would  say.  "  We 
all  mean  well,  but  each  prefers  his  own  way  of 
showing  it.  There  is  much  jealousy  among  us 
as  to  method." 

"  You  are  right,"  answered  Edith.  "  We 
make  the  poor  suffer  to  nurse  our  theories." 

At  home  Edith  found  an  almost  total  lack  of 
sympathy.  Moreover,  social  duties  were  a  hin- 
drance and  a  source  of  friction.  Her  efforts  to 
escape  irritated  Beatrice,  and  she  cried  her  dis- 
gust. 

"  I  trust  you  change  your  clothes  when  you 
come  home,"  she  exclaimed  once.  "  If  you  run 
around  among  those  poor  people  much  longer, 
you  will  be  dangerous  company." 

"  Beatrice,  you  are  just  a  trifle  disgusting," 
said  Edith,  coldly.  "  Your  idea  of  tenement- 

27 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

house  work  seems  to  be  a  dollar  in  one  hand  and 
a  disinfectant  in  the  other." 

"  No,  I  would  send  the  dollar  by  some  one 
else.  Really,  Edith,  I  don't  think  much  of  your 
subjects.  I  don't  believe  all  the  benefactions 
under  heaven  would  lead  to  a  love  of  soap, 
and  if  the  gentle  rains  of  charity  fell  on  their 
skins,  they  would  not  like  it  at  all." 

Mrs.  Lambert,  who  was  seated  near  by,  looked 
up  anxiously. 

"  You  —  you  —  don't  think,  Edith,"  she  que- 
ried, dismally,  "  there  is  any  danger  of  bac- 
teria?" 

And  then,  when  Beatrice  shrieked  with  laugh- 
ter, Edith  left  the  room,  too  hurt  and  angry  to 
reply. 

But  one  day  Beatrice  read  that  the  first  woman 
of  the  beloved  plutocracy  was  heading  a  move- 
ment for  free  baths  on  the  East  Side.  She  inter- 
viewed Edith  at  once. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  your  rounds 
sometime,"  she  announced.  "I  —  I  might  get 
interested." 

Edith  stared  at  her  in  doubt. 

"  What  is  your  motive  ?  "  she  asked. 

Beatrice  flushed  angrily. 


28 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  You  are  very  ungenerous,"  she  said.  "  The 
East  Side  is  hardly  a  private  preserve." 

"No,"  replied  Edith,  quietly,  "but  it  is  a 
poor  place  for  curiosity  excursions.  In  your 
present  spirit,  you  would  only  be  disgusted. 
Still,"  she  added,  contritely,  "  I  am  hardly  fair, 
after  all.  If  you  will  promise  not  to  view  my 
cases  as  exhibits,  it  might  be  a  lesson.  I  only  ask 
that  you  dress  properly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"-Dispense  with  furs  and  a  picture  hat.  Your 
rainy-day  skirt  and  a  jacket  would  be  in  better 
taste." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  case  of  going  to  Rome. 
Oan't  we  ride,  either?" 

"  Society  explorers  and  bishops  ride,"  an- 
swered Edith,  slyly,  "  but  we  are  workers,  you 
know." 

Beatrice  sighed. 

"  You  select  the  costume,"  she  said,  meekly. 
"  I  wish  to  be  in  form  even  over  there." 

They  set  forth  cheerful,  eager,  and  almost 
congenial. 

"  Your  skirt  fits  like  a  glove,"  said  Edith, 
admiringly.  "  I  think,  for  a  woman  of  your 
splendid  figure,  it  is  better  to  be  trig  than  pic- 
turesque." 

29 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  a  friend  of  curves.  You  can't 
get  the  effect  with  plain  clothes." 

Edith  stopped  at  a  florist's,  and  bought  a  bou- 
quet of  violets. 

"  What's  that  for  ?  "  asked  Beatrice,  resent- 
fully. "  I  thought  we  were  to  be  humble." 

"  I  am  taking  them  to  a  sick  woman,"  ex- 
plained Edith,  "  only  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  too 
late." 

"  It  is  unfortunate  I  have  no  patients,"  said 
Beatrice.  "  I  feel  terribly  crude." 

"  I  make  a  practice  of  walking  over  for  exer- 
cise," remarked  Edith,  as  they  went  along,  "  but 
if  you  prefer  we  will  get  a  cab." 

"  O,  no,"  Beatrice  answered,  boldly,  "  if  we 
are  going  to  rough  it,  we  may  as  well  be  hon- 
est." 

They  walked  on  for  many  squares,  and  the 
passage  from  one  quarter  to  another  interested 
Beatrice  greatly.  Edith  halted  at  last  before  a 
building,  huge,  square  as  a  box,  and  much  af- 
flicted with  dirt.  The  doors  stood  open,  and, 
without  hesitation,  Edith  walked  in  and  up  a 
gloomy  flight  of  stairs  to  the  fourth  landing.  At 
a  small  door  in  a  particularly  dusky  corner  she 
knocked,  and  a  voice  in  excellent  Irish  gave  them 
entrance. 
30 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

On  the  door-sill  Beatrice  shrank  from  the  spec- 
tacle. Into  a  space  not  much  greater  than  one 
of  her  gown  closets  she  saw  compressed  all  the 
home  life  of  a  family.  A  bed  and  a  cot  occupied 
one  side  of  the  room;  on  the  other  was  a  tiny 
stove  and  a  table,  while  the  floor  between  was 
desperately  crowded  by  a  pair  of  feeble  rocking- 
chairs.  In  one  corner  hooks  had  been  rigged 
up  to  support  clothing  —  consisting  in  this  case  of 
one  cotton  wrapper,  one  pair  of  overalls,  and  a 
boy's  jacket.  Poverty  shone  on  every  square 
inch  of  environment.  Through  an  acrid  haze  of 
smoke  Beatrice  saw  a  woman  bending  wearily 
over  the  stove,  and  a  small  boy  sitting  on  the  floor 
peeling  potatoes. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  McGuire,"  cried  Edith, 
cheerfully ;  "  the  top  o'  the  morning  to  ye." 

The  woman  dropped  her  pan  with  a  clatter, 
and  wheeled  around. 

"  Sure,  'tis  Miss  Edith,"  she  exclaimed,  loudly, 
"  and  the  Irish  ye  use  is  gittin'  betther  ivery  day. 
Not  the  minute  since  I  says  to  me  bye,  '  Now, 
what  if  Miss  Edith  shud  come  in  and  say  me 
thrying  to  fry  thim  iysters  she  sint  —  she'd  nivir 
sind  no  more.'  Two  of  thim's  burned  that  black, 
'tis  an  insult  to  the  poor  beasts,  but  Mike  will 
have  to  ate  thim  nivertheliss." 

3* 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

She  stopped  for  breath,  and  perched  her  head 
on  one  side  like  a  fat  robin. 

"  And  who  is  the  lady  with  the  bonnie  black 
eyes,  now?  "  she  asked. 

"  This  is  my  sister,  Mrs.  McGuire." 

"  It  is  so,"  cried  Mrs.  McGuire.  "  I  have  yer 
word  for  it,  which  is  enough,  but  ye  wud  nivir 
prove  it  otherwise.  'Tis  a  pair  of  beauties  ye 
are,  though  as  onlike  as  two  peas." 

Beatrice  looked  mildly  gratified. 

"  I  am  going  my  sister's  charitable  rounds," 
she  began,  when  she  felt  a  quick  nudge  from 
Edith,  and  changed  the  subject  —  "  and  this  is 
your  home,  Mrs.  McGuire?  Where  are  the  other 
room's  ?  " 

Mrs.  McGuire  laughed. 

"  They  be  all  here,  rolled  into  wan.  'Tis 
small,"  she  acknowledged,  "  but  if  Mike  don't 
git  a  job  on  the  Underground  soon,  I'm  thinkin' 
we'll  have  a  room  big  enough  —  the  whole  side- 
walk, sure." 

"  And  do  you  eat  and  sleep  here  ?  " 

"  Faith,  'tis  quite  a  number  of  meals  we  have 
missed,  but  we  slape  here." 

Beatrice  could  not  restrain  herself. 

"  But  isn't  it  dreadfully  unhealthy  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  'Tis,  indeed,  that,"  admitted  Mrs.  McGuire. 
32 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  don't  mind  missin'  a  meal  now  and  thin,  but 
'tis  hard  on  Mike,  'cause  his  appetite  is  onquench- 
able,  work  or  no  work.  Me  bye  is  more  reason- 
able." 

"  How  do  you  get  your  baths  ?  "  continued 
Beatrice,  curiously. 

Edith,  whose  smile  had  vanished  into  a  look 
of  annoyance,  checked  the  inquiry. 

"  Mrs.  McGuire,"  she  asked,  gently,  "  how  is 
the  patient  to-day  ?  " 

The  woman's  face  lengthened  dismally. 

"Sure,  she  is  goin'  fast,"  she  said;  "'tis  no 
use  at  all,  Miss  Edith,  ye  can't  save  her.  She 
asked  for  ye  the  mornin'  whin  I  was  down  wid 
the  broth." 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  gasp  from  Bea- 
trice, who  had  moved  around  to  the  table.  She 
pointed  to  a  brown  clay  pipe  leaning  against  the 
coffee-pot. 

"  Surely,  my  good  woman,"  she  cried,  "  you 
do  not  permit  a  pipe  near  your  coffee?  It  is 
certain  to  taint  it." 

Mrs.  McGuire  looked  puzzled. 

"  'Tis  Mike's  fault  intoirely  —  the  careless 
man,"  she  replied,  "  he  says  it  looks  more  home- 
like." 

"  Come,  Beatrice,"  said  Edith,  sharply,  "  we 

33 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

have  some  distance  to  go.  Remember,  Mrs. 
McGuire,  you  will  look  after  the  poor  creature, 
and,  if  your  husband  does  not  get  work  in  a 
week,  you  are  to  let  me  know." 

On  the  landing  Edith  frowned  darkly  at  her 
sister,  and  then  laughed. 

"  I  beg  of  you,  Beatrice,"  she  pleaded,  "  re- 
member these  poor  creatures'  feelings ;  we  are  not 
a  probing  committee.  And  be  careful  also  of  that 
word  charity." 

"  Well,  you  are  helping  the  woman,  are  you 
not?" 

"  Of  course.  I  stand  between  Mrs.  McGuire 
and  eviction,  but  if  I  reminded  her  of  it  my 
usefulness  would  end." 

They  walked  a  long  distance  before  Edith 
again  stopped  at  a  companion  house  to  the  one 
they  had  left.  The  endless  dreariness  of  their 
surroundings,  the  atmosphere  of  poverty  that 
dogged  their  footsteps,  had  depressed  Beatrice 
greatly.  She  began  to  dread  the  next  adventure, 
and  to  be  sorry  that  she  had  come  at  all.  At 
the  very  top  of  the  gloomy  building  Edith 
knocked  at  a  door.  It  was  opened  cautiously, 
and  a  ragged  little  girl  peered  out.  Her  face 
was  pallid,  prematurely  old,  and  full  of  a  wan 
fear.  The  instant  she  saw  Edith  she  gave  a 

34 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

shrill  cry  of  joy,  and  flung  the  barrier  wide. 
Then  she  turned  and  scuttled  across  the  room. 

"  Felice,  Mary,  baby,"  she  s'houted,  "  line  up 
together.  It  is  the  Christmas  mother.  Quick, 
line  up." 

Edith  entered  the  door,  smiling  happily.  She 
knew  just  what  she  was  to  see,  and  the  knowl- 
edge filled  her  with  pleasure. 

At  one  end  of  the  room,  side  by  side,  their 
hands  clasped  together,  and  their  faces  ablaze 
with -eagerness,  stood  three  little  children.  One 
was  hardly  more  than  a  baby,  the  eldest  not  over 
six  years  of  age.  Watching  them  anxiously  was 
the  little  girl  who  had  opened  the  door.  "  Sa- 
lute," she  cried,  as  Edith  entered,  and  with  one 
motion  they  gravely  bobbed  their  heads. 

Edith  made  a  low,  sweeping  bow  in  return. 

"Splendid!"  she  cried,  gaily.  "You  drill 
like  little  soldiers.  I  wish  you  a  very  good 
morning." 

The  trio  bobbed  again. 

"  And  to  show  that  I  remembered  you,  the 
grocer  is  coming  soon  with  lots  of  good  things 
to  eat." 

"  Possibly  a  little  cash  in  hand  would  prove 
your  intentions  better,"  remarked  Beatrice,  sud- 
denly. "  I  think  they  look  suspicious." 

35 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  laughed. 

"It  is  a  good  idea,  anyhow,  Beatrice,"  she 
said,  "  let  me  try  them." 

She  fumbled  with  her  purse. 

"  Do  you  know  what  money  is?  "  she  asked. 

The  trio  trembled  with  excitement.  "  We 
don't  know  much,"  said  the  eldest,  eagerly. 

"  She  means  that  she  would  like  to  get  better 
acquainted,"  observed  Beatrice. 

"  Well,  here  is  a  large,  round  dollar  for  each 
of  you,"  said  Edith,  "  only,  baby,  please  don't  try 
to  swallow  it."  Then  she  turned  to  the  girl. 
"  You  are  going  to-morrow,  little  woman,"  she 
added.  "  I  have  arranged  everything." 

The  girl  seemed  stunned  by  the  news. 

"I  —  oh  —  I  thank  you,"  she  stammered ;  "  if 
only  father  does  not  come." 

"  It  is  not  likely  now,"  said  Edith,  cheerfully, 
"  and  even  if  he  comes  it  will  not  matter.  I  will 
take  you  away  myself.  Once  away,  you  shall 
never  come  back." 

The  visitors  left  amid  a  concert  of  farewells, 
and  the  girl  escorted  them  to  the  street. 

"  I  surmise,"  said  Beatrice,  when  they  were 
alone,  "  that  the  girl  is  playing  father  and  mother 
to  the  little  ones." 

"  Yes,  it  is  one  of  the  common  horrors  of  the 

36 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

district.  They  have  been  deserted  a  week,  and 
the  elder  girl  has  kept  them  alive  selling  papers. 
I  have  gotten  two  rooms  in  a  good  neighbour- 
hood, and  I  shall  install  her  as  housekeeper." 

They  walked  along  for  a  time  in  lively  discus- 
sion. Then  Beatrice  grew  quieter  and  finally 
stopped,  turned  pale  and  gasped. 

"  Edith,"  she  said,  faintly,  "  this  —  this  neigh- 
bourhood is  too  much.  I  think,  if  you  do  not 
object,  I  will  go  home.  Besides,  I  have  a  dance 
to-night,  and  I  ought  to  be  resting,"  and  in  this 
inglorious  fashion  the  trip  collapsed.  At  the 
Lambert  residence  Beatrice  met  her  aunt  on  the 
stairs.  Edith  had  delayed  in  Broadway. 

"  Oh,  auntie !  "  cried  Beatrice,  "  a  festival  of 
horrors!  I  really  think  Edith  must  have  a  com- 
mon streak  in  her  to  endure  it  at  all." 

She  changed  to  a  house  gown  with  shuddering 
relief. 

"  If  advancement  lie  in  that  direction,"  she 
murmured,  "  it  is  not  for  me." 

The  month  succeeding  the  excursion  was  to 
Beatrice  a  period  of  stagnation.  Try  as  she  might, 
she  could  make  no  advance  beyond  the  sphere  of 
which  she  had  hoped  so  much  and  realised  so 
little.  Every  stratagem  had  failed,  every  plan 
had  been  barren  of  profit,  and  she  was  fain  to 

37 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

admit,  with  numb  regret,  that  she  was  no  nearer 
success  than  the  day  she  left  New  Orleans.  She 
made  two  painful  discoveries.  One  was  that  the 
women  about  her  had  ambitions  similar  to  her 
own;  another  that  Mrs.  Lambert  had  abandoned 
those  activities  helpful  to  the  campaign  of  an 
aspirant.  The  neglect  was  due  to  age  and  indis- 
position, and  she  found  it  hard  to  break  the 
habit  of  years.  Such  teas  as  her  aunt  gave  were 
well  patronised,  but  everything  she  did  had  about 
it  a  matronly  tone,  and  the  younger  element, 
which  believed  in  spectacular  effects,  remained 
away.  It  was  a  handicap,  and  Beatrice  raged 
at  the  disadvantage.  She  knew  that  graduation 
to  the  plutocracy  must  come  through  the  smart 
set  of  her  own  sphere,  yet  she  was  helpless  to 
make  a  showing  in  even  this  minor  circle.  She 
pointed  out  to  Mrs.  Lambert  that  lack  of  display 
meant  defeat. 

"  You  are  killing  my  chances,"  she  cried,  bit- 
terly ;  "  instead  of  drawing  about  me  promising 
young  people,  I  am  condemned  to  the  dowagers. 
If  New  Orleans  knew,"  she  went  on,  with  a  half- 
sob  in  her  voice,  "  I  should  be  laughed  at." 

But  Mrs.  Lambert  refused  to  see. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  she  said,  resentfully,  "  I 
do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  this  clamour 

38 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

about  society.  You  are  in  society  now.  I  am 
ready  to  entertain,  but  I  cannot  think  of  giving 
my  house  over  to  gaiety.  It  would  unsettle 
everything." 

"  Then  you  are  willing  I  should  accept  atten- 
tions without  return?"  asked  Beatrice,  coldly. 

"  We  are  not  obliged  to  match  ball  with  ball, 
dinner  with  dinner.  Our  position  is  too  well 
grounded,"  answered  Mrs.  Lambert,  composedly. 
And  baffled  by  this  stand,  Beatrice  gave  up. 

The  check  on  ambition  bred  in  her  an  ugly 
change.  She  lost  hope,  and  with  it  much  of  the 
high  spirits  which  had  sprung  from  hope.  The 
certainty  that  Mrs.  Lambert's  attitude  meant 
failure  stung  her  to  revolt.  As  a  companion  she 
was  barely  tolerable. 

It  was  while  in  this  state  that  unrest  kindled 
a  bonfire  of  resolve.  Under  normal  conditions 
it  could  not  have  found  birth,  but  she  was 
angry  and  desperate,  and  she  readily  believed 
the  crisis  called  for  a  special  effort.  The 
expected  drift  on  a  summer  sea  of  triumph  had 
failed  —  she  would  spread  the  sails  to  any  breeze 
that  aided  progress.  Her  plan  was  a  masterpiece 
of  ignorance.  Plutocracy,  she  argued,  meant 
money  plus  notoriety.  She  had  the  first,  she 
must  bid  for  the  second.  It  was  a  daring  scheme 

39 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

—  an  heiress  publicly  en  rapport  with  the  for- 
bidden fruits  —  and  she  did  not  see  how  its  ap- 
peal to  a  watchful  press  could  fail.  Nor  did  she 
see  how  the  great  gossip-loving  public  could  long 
withhold  the  scathing  gales  that  should  sweep 
her  to  a  harbour  of  notoriety.  Meantime  she 
would  be  enjoying  herself. 

As  a  beginning,  she  attached  herself  to  the 
Bohemian  element  of  her  own  smart  set.  This 
small  but  fervid  group  affected  hotels,  encouraged 
men  of  the  world,  drank  champagne,  and  loathed 
conservatism.  They  lived  deep  and  smiled 
widely,  and  the  one  thing  they  feared  was  to 
be  obscure. 

When  Beatrice  exchanged  the  gloom  of  the 
Lambert  circle  for  this  quaint  company,  the  move 
caused  just  the  flutter  she  desired.  The  con- 
servatives stared  awhile,  caught  their  breath,  and 
scattered  opinions.  And  Beatrice  did  not  spare 
herself  to  give  these  opinions  colour,  and  to  coax 
other  opinions  to  grow  where  before  there  had 
been  barren  stalks  of  suspicion.  From  "  that 
young  Southern  girl  at  Lambert's  "  to  the  divin- 
ity of  private  toasts  was  a  rapid  growth.  From 
the  lifted  eyebrow  to  open  reproach  was  a  nat- 
ural sequel.  Moreover  what  had  been  an  expedi- 
ent was  now  to  Beatrice  a  pleasure. 
40 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Mrs.  Lambert  became  panic-stricken.  She 
attacked  her  niece,  and  Beatrice  smiled. 

"  This  dishonour,  as  you  call  it,  can't  be  any 
worse  than  death,"  she  said,  coolly,  "  and  I  would 
rather  be  dead  than  go  back  to  New  Orleans  a 
social  failure.  You  are  helpless;  you  cannot  or 
will  not  help  me,  and  it  remains  for  me  to  find 
a  way.  Besides,  auntie,  I  do  not  admit  your 
charges,"  and  she  walked  off  jauntily. 

In  desperation,  Mrs.  Lambert  sent  for  her 
brother.  He  listened  gravely. 

"  It  is  all  very  strange,"  he  remarked.  "  What 
is  her  idea?  " 

"  O,  she  is  bitter  because  she  is  not  in  what 
she  calls  society.  She  thinks  if  she  gets  her  name 
in  the  papers  as  an  unconventional  heiress,  the 
Newport  smart  set  will  take  her  up." 

"  That  is  not  impossible ;  they  have  done  it 
before." 

"  But  the  disgrace  —  and,  oh,  the  people  she 
uses ! " 

"  I  cannot  believe  she  is  serious." 

'  You  must.  Beatrice  is  fomenting  gossip 
night  and  day.  Where  it  will  end  is  doubtful; 
but  it  can  have  no  end  that  I  am  likely  to  enjoy. 
The  point  is  to  prevent  being  involved  —  also  to 
save  her." 

4* 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Why  not  go  to  Europe?  " 

"  I  cannot  run  away.  It  would  open  the  flood- 
gates." 

"  You  think  it  is  merely  a  case  of  advertise- 
ment?" 

"  Not  altogether,  no ;  the  spirit  of  old  John 
Cameron  informs  her  ideas  very  largely.  If 
polite  dissipation  is  part  of  her  campaign,  I 
think  she  enjoys  the  cause  as  much  as  she  antici- 
pates the  effect." 

"  It  will  end  in  some  vulgar  crash." 

"  I  believe  that  it  will." 

The  stock-broker  relapsed  into  thought.  Mrs. 
Lambert  paced  the  floor  restlessly. 

"  I  see  three  ways  of  escape,"  said  the  capi- 
talist, finally.  "  One  is  to  run  away  yourself ;  the 
other  is  to  drive  her  away,  and  the  last  is  to  so 
divert  and  interest  her  that  she  will  abandon  this 
ridiculous  plan  of  her  own  accord." 

"  Robert,  you  are  nebulous.  We  cannot  maroon 
her.  Short  of  that  —  " 

"  Involve  her  affections.  Select  a  possible 
man  in  whom  religion  is  a  dominant  spirit,  and 
excite  his  zeal.  Point  out  to  him  that  he  has  a 
soul  to  save.  Then  make  her  fall  in  love  with 
him.  Considering  her  money  and  beauty,  I 
should  not  think  it  hard  to  find  a  knight  errant." 
42 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Mrs.  Lambert  regarded  her  brother  with  in- 
terest. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  think  you  have  an  idea," 
she  said,  happily.  "  Moreover  I  know  the  man, 
the  very  man,  as  good  and  clever  as  he  is  fas- 
cinating. He  will  do  this  thing,  too,  because  I 
ask  him." 

The  capitalist  rose  with  the  satisfaction  of  one 
who  has  been  patted  on  the  back. 

"  Very  good,"  he  said,  "  but  let  us  hope  that 
she  does  not  make  a  convert  o>f  him." 

Mrs.  Lambert  flew  to  her  writing-desk.  She 
summoned  up  the  vision  of  a  brown-eyed,  soft- 
voiced  boy  with  the  spirit  of  a  Christian  gladia- 
tor, and  she  called  him  to  the  lists  of  her  strange 
tournament  with  confidence.  When  she  met  him 
that  night  in  the  drawing-room,  this  confidence 
oozed  away.  She  had  known  Philip  Holt  all  the 
way  from  short  skirts  to  Ascots,  but,  neverthe- 
less, while  she  patted  his  hand  in  introductory 
nothings  the  strangeness  of  her  brother's  design 
came  home  to  her.  Its  outlook  aroused  alarm, 
and  she  loved  this  lad  as  a  son  of  her  own.  But 
she  took  courage  under  his  smiling  gaiety,  and, 
with  calculating  effect,  brought  and  laid  before 
him  a  portrait  of  Beatrice. 


43 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Look,  Philip,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  Do  you 
see  that?  There  is  a  soul  to  be  saved." 

"A  what?  —  what's  that,  Mrs.  Lambert?" 

"  I  say,  there  is  a  soul  to  be  saved,  and  I 
mean  it  literally.  Is  she  not  beautiful  ?  " 

"  She  is  glorious." 

"  And  yet  the  soul  of  a  Cleopatra  looks  from 
those  eyes.  You  know  her  quite  well  by  reputa- 
tion, Philip;  she  is  my  niece,  Beatrice  Cameron. 
Her  story  is  very  sorrowful;  it  is  almost  tragic." 
She  paused  to  note  his  scrutiny.  He  seemed 
hardly  to  hear  her,  so  she  bent  over  his  shoulder, 
and  went  on  in  a  deftly  dramatic  monotone: 

"  It  is  the  story  of  a  woman  who  puts  her  soul 
on  the  bargain-counter  of  desire.  She  barters 
for  a  prize  so  small,  so  trifling,  that  it  would 
seem  the  slightest  pressure  of  a  hand  would  save 
her.  It  is  not  so.  Appeal,  advice,  precept,  count 
for  nothing.  I  tell  you  again  —  there  is  a  soul  to 
be  saved." 

"  But  what  has  she  done,  Mrs.  Lambert,  and, 
for  heaven's  sake,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  You,  Philip,  must  come  to  the  rescue.  You 
must  take  her  by  the  hand  and  lead  her  in  the 
narrow  way." 

He  looked  up  with  a  smile  trembling  on  his 


44 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

lips,  but  it  got  no  further.  Mrs.  Lambert's  ear- 
nestness was  beyond  jest. 

"  You  are  the  one  man  in  New  York  who  can 
do  this,  and  I  say  to  you  that  your  duty  as  a 
Christian  demands  the  attempt.  Everything  else 
has  failed,  but,  Philip,  love  will  win.  Bring  her 
to  see  with  your  eyes;  inspire  her  to  reach  your 
level.  Make  her  love  you." 

"  So  I  understand  you  to  mean  that  I  am  to 
offer  love  to  this  Beatrice?  It  is  astonishing." 

"  Yes,  Philip,  and  when  affection  has  restored 
her  I  want  you  to  make  her  your  wife." 

For  an  instant  the  man  was  silent  with  a  great 
amazement. 

"  This  is  frivolous,"  he  said,  finally.  "  I  cannot 
think  you  are  serious." 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  "  you  shall  not  mistake. 
You  have  said  that  you  wished  to  serve  the 
Master,  Philip.  This  is  a  mission;  it  is  your 
mission,  and  I  ask  you  to  take  it  as  a  duty." 

"  Am  I  the  only  available  martyr?  " 

"  It  is  small  martyrdom  that  involves  a  pretty 
girl  and  millions  of  money.  But  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  view  the  material  aspect." 

"  Marriage  is  the  most  material  thing  in  the 
world." 


45 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Yes,  but  not  the  blossoming  of  a  soul  in 
affection.  That  is  different." 

"  Your  confidence  is  remarkable.  What  of 
Beatrice?  Is  it  to  be  a  case  of  love  at  first 
sight?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  will  be  just  that.  You  know, 
Philip,"  she  went  on,  caressingly,  "  you  are  one 
of  the  best-looking  men  in  New  York,  and  the 
best  thinking.  When  Beatrice  meets  you  she 
meets  the  best  type  of  a  man  she  is  likely  to 
find  in  her  environment.  I  know,  too,  that  you 
will  recognise  her  true  quality,  and  view  this 
matter  as  a  passing  madness." 

"  You  really  wish  this  thing,  then  ?  " 

"  So  much  so  that  I  appeal  to  your  gratitude." 

He  walked  over  to  her  side  and  took  her  hand 
with  the  affection  a  son  might  employ  to  his 
mother. 

"  Mrs.  Lambert,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  I  cannot 
imagine  a  better  reason  for  placing  myself  at 
your  disposal.  I  have  owed  much  to  your  friend- 
ship and  guidance  all  my  life.  It  is  an  odd  thing 
you  ask,  but  I  will  play  the  beau  cavalier  to 
please  you.  Besides,"  he  added,  lightly,  "  per- 
haps the  photograph  is  something  of  an  influence 
also." 

And  so  the  compact  was  made;  but  between 
46 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

night  and  morning  there  came  to  Mrs.  Lambert 
some  wofully  bad  hours.  She  realised  that  in 
her  haste  to  check  Beatrice  she  had  plunged  her 
knight  into  peculiar  hazard.  It  was  a  play  at 
hearts  that  might  not  prove  tragedy,  but  could 
hardly  ensure  comedy.  What  proof  had  she  that 
Beatrice  would  follow  the  programme  of  regen- 
eration? Might  she  not  unhorse  her  cavalier? 
Might  she  not  will-o'-the-wisp  his  desires? 
Might  she  not  detect  the  plot  and  retaliate  ?  And 
so  on-  and  on,  until  with  the  ebb  tide  of  speculation 
she  fell  asleep. 

But  it  was  different  the  day  after.  When 
Philip  made  his  appearance  she  felt  a  glow  of 
confidence.  There  is  something  about  a  well- 
groomed  man  that  suggests  capacity,  masked  in 
others.  His  mere  ensemble  is  a  spur  to  imagi- 
nation, and  it  is,  moreover,  a  credit.  Philip 
looked  very  competent  in  a  purely  manly  way. 
His  height,  his  mobility  of  feature,  a  gentle  defer- 
ence, all  bid  for  consideration. 

"  Oh,  fathers !  "  she  murmured,  "  what  a  glory 
not  to  be  common !  " 

And  with  Beatrice,  too,  there  was  a  visible 
interest.  She  had  heard  much  from  her  aunt  of 
this  young  man's  qualities.  His  cleanness  and 
piety  had  led  her  to  associate  him  with  the  cloth, 

47 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  it  came  as  a  novelty  to  find  these  uncommon 
virtues  housed  in  the  character  of  a  man  of  the 
world.  It  awoke  in  her  a  vicious  desire  to  play 
the  siren.  She  felt,  without  knowing  it,  all  the 
hostility  struck  from  a  baser  nature  by  contact 
with  an  assured  superior,  and  she  resented  the 
unspoken  contrast.  From  the  beginning  they 
played  at  cross  purposes.  She  conceived  a  dislike 
for  him,  which  acted  as  a  buffer  to  all  his 
advances.  Her  resentment  grew  into  something 
very  like  hatred,  and,  based  as  it  was  on  natural 
antipathy,  it  went  beyond  reason.  No  matter 
what  bud  of  interest  blossomed  in  'her  heart, 
Beatrice  crushed  it  promptly.  That  very  trick  of 
reversal  feared  by  her  uncle,  she  laboured  to 
bring  about.  With  one  hand  she  sped  a  web 
of  romance ;  with  the  other  she  sought  to  strangle 
in  its  meshes  not  Philip's  heart  alone,  but  his 
manhood  and  his  morals.  She  worked  evil  for 
the  sake  of  perversity. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert,  in  a 
thoughtless  moment,  "  I  don't  see  how  so  good 
and  pure  a  man  as  Philip  stands  the  ordinary 
run  of  people.  I  should  think  the  level  of  vul- 
garity would  set  his  nerves  on  edge." 

Beatrice's  teeth  came  together  with  a  little 
click. 

48 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Neither  do  I,"  she  answered,  blandly,  "  but, 
don't  you  know,  Mr.  Holt  is  so  dreadfully  chaste 
that  at  times  one  longs  to  daub  him  so  that  he 
may  seem  human." 

But  the  sting  in  Beatrice's  sarcasm  was  quite 
unwarranted.  Philip  had  been  both  natural  and 
honest.  He  did  not  make  capital  of  his  integrity, 
nor  did  he,  as  Beatrice  imagined,  plume  his 
virtues  merely  to  impale  her  own.  It  was  only 
her  dislike  that  gave  her  this  idea.  She  was  in 
fact  always  on  the  lookout  for  points  of  criticism. 
Her  vision  was  of  wilful  compass,  and,  as  it 
helped  justify  her,  there  was  no  wish  for  proper 
angles. 

It  came  as  a  great  blow  to  Mrs.  Lambert  when 
she  first  began  to  doubt  the  success  of  her  plan. 
She  saw  signs  of  failure  in  a  growing  distaste  on 
Beatrice's  part  for  her  agent.  She  did  not  forget, 
however,  that  eleventh  hour  romances  are  quite 
as  likely  as  first  sight  affairs,  and  she  prayed  hard 
for  a  shift  of  wind.  In  the  last  extremity  Philip 
could  withdraw  and  close  the  incident.  But  she 
had  an  awakening  at  last,  and  one  dark  afternoon 
watched  the  egg  of  experiment  hatch  forth  a 
raven.  It  was  at  a  large  picture  exhibit,  —  one 
of  those  store  displays  which  attract  ten  "  con- 
noisseurs "  and  one  buyer,  —  and  Mrs.  Lambert 

49 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

in  her  role  of  art  patron  was  enjoying  herself 
hugely. 

In  a  small  side  gallery  devoted  to  dramatic 
works  she  ran  across  Philip.  Save  for  him  the 
gallery  was  deserted,  for  there  were  none  of  the 
"  still  life "  inanities  which  give  amateurs  a 
chance  to  rave  over  colour  tones  and  talk  about 
Corot.  Instead  there  were  only  big,  blood- 
quickening  subjects  that  told  of  life  and  the  end 
of  life,  and  before  one  of  these  Philip  stood  in 
fascinated  study.  It  was  a  woman's  face,  white 
and  gray  with  the  pigments  of  death,  on  a  coal- 
black  background.  Nothing  lived  in  the  face 
save  the  eyes,  but  they  seemed  to  flame  and  glitter 
with  shifting  fires  and  to  breathe  mockery  in 
their  stare. 

For  a  full  minute,  while  she  watched,  Mrs. 
Lambert  saw  Philip  gaze  at  the  face  without 
movement,  and  a  curious  feeling  seized  her  that 
the  malignant  eyes  were  looking  back.  Then  she 
looked  at  the  picture  herself,  and  the  eyes  seemed 
familiar,  haunting,  suggestive.  She  trembled 
with  the  recognition  that  crept  to  her  brain. 

Philip  turned  upon  her  suddenly,  and,  ignoring 
greeting  or  question,  clutched  her  by  the  arm. 
His  lips  trembled  with  distress. 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Mrs.  Lambert,"  he  whispered,  "  I  have  seen 
her  look  like  that.  She  has  looked  like  that 
at  me." 

"  Beatrice,  you  mean  ?  "  she  gasped. 

'  Yes,  Beatrice,  and  oh !  Mrs.  Lambert,  I  —  I 
cannot  help  it.  I  love  her.  I  love  her." 


CHAPTER    III. 

rHE  next  few  weeks  brought  to  Mrs. 
Lambert  still  more  echoes  of  Beatrice's 
harvest.  They  were  not  serious,  having 
to  do  with  broken  conventions  rather  than  com- 
mandments, but  they  served  to  annoy.  Her  imagi- 
nation gave  her  no  peace.  Worst  of  all,  she 
found  she  was  suspected  of  condonement.  This 
was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  To  be  told 
of  some  escapade  of  Beatrice,  and  then  asked 
whether  she  approved  of  such  conduct,  touched 
the  limit  of  patience.  There  were  more  female 
visitors  at  this  time  than  ever  before.  They  had 
heard  things  which  they  were  afraid  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert had  not  heard.  They  suspected  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert of  hearing  things  which  they  had  not  heard. 
Between  fact  and  fancy  they  enjoyed  themselves, 
even  if  Mrs.  Lambert  did  not.  But  through  it 
all  she  preserved  restraint.  It  was  due  in  part 
to  a  refinement  that  fled  disturbance ;  in  part  also 
it  was  because  of  a  lively  fear  of  Beatrice  herself. 
There  was  something  in  her  audacity  that 

52 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

blighted  the  aunt's  courage  —  in  her  direction 
lurked  disorder.  While  matters  were  at  this 
stage  there  came  a  breezy  interlude  in  the  visit 
of  Mr.  Benedict  Walters,  Baltimorean,  nephew 
of  Mrs.  Lambert,  and  student  at  Yale.  He  came 
clown  from  college  for  the  holidays,  and  Mrs. 
Lambert  prefaced  his  arrival  with  a  warning. 

"  Mr.  Walters  has  some  very  peculiar  ideas," 
she  hinted,  "  but  he  is  only  a  boy.  I  hope,  in 
any  event,''  and  she  looked  severely  at  Beatrice, 
"  that  you  will  both  be  indulgent." 

He  proved  to  be  a  freshman  of  the  most  afflict- 
ing type.  His  pose  of  solemnity  and  his  broad 
egotism  made  him  a  trial.  And  there  was 
nothing  in  his  appearance,  either,  to  warn  his 
victims.  He  was  tall  and  clean-cut,  and  in  repose 
his  features  bore  a  stamp  of  intelligence.  College 
life  with  him  was  a  discovery.  He  spent  his 
entire  time  seeking  some  one  to  impress.  Mrs. 
Lambert  listened  for  a  night  and  two  days,  and 
then  took  refuge  in  illness.  Beatrice  sprang  into 
the  breach  and  tried  to  divert  his  mind,  but  he 
would  talk  of  nothing  outside  New  Haven. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  college?"  he  asked, 
hungrily. 

"  I  have,"  she  answered,  with  emphasis.  "  I 
was  educated  in  Louisiana  and  Paris." 

53 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  life,"  he  said,  his  tone  full 
of  reverence. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  she  admitted,  wickedly,  "  a 
life  none  may  live  but  the  young." 

He  warmed  at  her  attention.  "  I  think  our 
curriculum  now,"  he  ventured,  "  is  beyond  criti- 
cism. It  is  compressed  culture." 

"  No  doubt,"  answered  Beatrice.  "  I  like  the 
football  schedule  particularly." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  place  athletics  above 
learning,"  he  muttered.  "  I  suppose  you  sit  on 
the  benches  and  wave  flags.  What  colours  do 
you  wear,  Miss  Cameron  ?  " 

"  The  colours  of  the  Institut  Superieur  de 
Jeunes  Demoiselles  La  Rochefoucauld-Fenelon 
de  Paris,"  she  answered,  solemnly. 

"I  —  I  see,"  he  stammered.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing like  alma  mater.  The  college  spirit  is  the 
finest  thing  in  the  world." 

"  I  think  so  myself.  I  imagine  every  one  does 
except  the  police." 

He  looked  at  her  suspiciously. 

"When  will  Mrs.  Lambert  be  down?"  he 
asked,  abruptly. 

"Hardly  before  Saturday." 

"  But  that  is  the  day  I  leave.    And  she  has  not 


54 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

heard  about  our  dormitories.  She  said  she  par- 
ticularly wished  to  learn  how  we  live." 

"  I  will  tell  her,"  said  Beatrice.  "  I  will  tell 
her  the  exact  facts.  Now  there  is  my  sister," 
she  continued,  searching  for  escape ;  "  she  is  very 
much  interested  in  higher  education.  I  think 
she  might  enjoy  your  experiences." 

He  balanced  himself  on  the  edge  of  his  chair 
and  stared. 

"  I  had  a  chat  with  Miss  Edith,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "  but  she  was  so  —  so  sweet  and  sympa- 
thetic I  was  afraid  she  might  misunderstand." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Beatrice, 
keenly.  She  scented  another  "  peculiar  "  idea. 

"  I  was  afraid  she  might  think  I  was  flirting," 
he  answered,  with  a  show  of  confusion.  "  I 
would  not  care  to  have  any  one  think  I  was 
flirting,  because  I  shall  never  marry." 

Beatrice  looked  at  'him  in  cold  amazement. 
The  impertinence,  the  snobbishness  of  the  hint, 
dazed  her.  But  its  very  absurdity  forbade  anger. 
Instead  she  felt  a  wicked  joy  at  the  chance  for 
amusement. 

"  I  thought  college  men  were  cavaliers,"  she 
suggested.  "  You  are  unique." 

"  That's  just  the  trouble,"  he  said,  earnestly ; 
"  the  moment  women  find  a  man's  a  collegian, 

55 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

they  set  all  sorts  of  snares.  I  admit  a  collegian 
may  be  more  desirable  than  ordinary  men,  but  he 
has  a  great  work  ahead  of  him.  He  should  be 
above  trivialities." 

"  It's  the  higher  education  that  attracts,"  said 
Beatrice,  soothingly. 

"  Of  course.     Women  are  patrons  of  brains." 

"  It  is  very  odd  about  Edith.  She  is  usually 
quite  modest.  I  cannot  imagine  —  " 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  given  you  a  wrong  impres- 
sion." 

"  Dear  me,  no !  Your  spirit  is  exemplary. 
How  long  will  you  stay  in  New  York  ?  "  she 
asked,  suddenly. 

"  Until  the  end  of  this  week." 

"  The  time  is  short,"  she  said,  musingly,  "  but 
still  I  may  be  able  to  change  your  views." 

"On  what?"  he  asked. 

"  Marriage.  I  am  sorry  Edith's  first  interview 
with  you  failed.  I  know  we  can  induce  you  to 
think  differently." 

"  But  I  would  rather  you  did  not  try,"  he  said, 
anxiously. 

"O,  I  must,"  declared  Beatrice.  "Your 
ideas  are  too  narrow;  you  need  a  woman  to 
take  you  by  the  hand,"  —  and  she  swept  away, 
leaving  him  doubtful  and  uneasy. 

56 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Our  new  cousin  talks  very  entertainingly," 
Beatrice  remarked  to  her  sister  that  afternoon. 
"  I  gather  that  he  attends  college." 

Edith  reddened  with  merriment. 

"Do  you  need  rescue?"  she  asked. 

"  If  you  give  me  a  day's  respite  I  shall  be  grate- 
ful. I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  brought  out  one 
of  his  peculiar  ideas.  He  scorns  marriage." 

"That  is  too  bad,"  said  Edith.  "No  man 
should  be  allowed  such  heresy.  It  reflects  on 
our  sex." 

"  Possibly  you  may  convert  him.  He  admires 
your  judgment.  You  will  have  to  do  something 
to  entertain  him,  or  I  shall  follow  Mrs.  Lambert." 

"  I  have  been  selfish,"  said  Edith,  regretfully. 
"  I  will  take  him  off  your  hands  for  a  time." 

Edith  tried  hard  to  atone.  She  talked  educa- 
tion until  even  Mr.  Walters  wearied  of  the  sub- 
ject. Then  she  turned  to  the  marriage  topic  and 
made  a  genuine  plea  for  reform.  He  took  fright 
at  once.  Back  of  the  arguments  he  saw  personal 
design  and  the  threat  of  Beatrice.  He  was  sullen 
and  emphatic. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  marriage,"  he  said,  "  be- 
cause I  weary  of  people  so  quickly.  I  often  get 
tired  of  a  woman  in  a  few  moments."  He 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

looked  at  Edith  severely.  "  And,  besides,"  he 
continued,  "  a  wife  costs  more." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Edith,  reproachfully,  "  love 
is  not  dear  at  any  price." 

"  And  then,  unless  a  woman  is  cultured,  she 
hampers  one's  career.  Where  were  you  edu- 
cated?" 

"  In  Richmond.  But  surely,"  she  added, 
earnestly,  "  you  don't  place  the  brain  above  the 
heart?" 

"  I  do.  Our  fellows  at  Yale  believe  that  unless 
a  woman  can  write  a  dinner  menu  in  three  lan- 
guages she  will  prove  deficient  as  a  helpmate." 
He  watched  her  closely.  He  feared  she  was  about 
to  take  his  hand. 

"  But  nearly  every  one  speaks  the  languages 
now,"  said  Edith.  "  I  spoke  French  and  German 
when  I  was  thirteen." 

"  Still,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  of  final  warning, 
"  I  never  yet  met  a  woman  whom  I  considered 
desirable."  Her  persistence  worried  him. 

"  It  is  a  very  singular  view,"  observed  Edith, 
warmly.  "  It  would  please  me  if  I  could  show 
you  just  how  much  a  bachelor  loses." 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  make  it  a  personal  matter," 
he  said,  with  sudden  agitation.  "  I  don't  think 
even  you  could  convince  me.  Besides,  I  am  going 
58 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Saturday."  He  glanced  eagerly  toward  the  door. 
And  then  in  a  flash  she  realised  his  fear.  He  ex- 
pected a  siege  —  and  from  her.  For  a  second  she 
was  overwhelmed.  When  she  regained  her  poise 
her  voice  was  acid. 

"  I  was  merely  theoretical,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
you  are  quite  sure  of  safety."  She  walked  to  the 
door.  He  sighed  relief.  "  I  am  sorry  to  dis- 
appoint you,"  he  answered,  and  Edith  shuddered. 

For  a  time  Edith's  anger  at  the  trap  laid  by 
Beat-rice  urged  her  to  war.  But  the  burlesque 
quality  of  the  issue  soothed  her,  and  when  she 
met  her  sister  it  was  only  to  laugh.  They  agreed 
to  leave  Mr.  Walters  to  his  ideals.  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert issued  forth  refreshed,  and  before  she  col- 
lapsed again  Mr.  Walters  was  gone. 

"  What  puzzles  me,"  said  Beatrice,  thought- 
fully, "  is  how  such  a  man  can  live  in  a  college." 

"  Every  community  has  its  fool,"  responded 
Edith.  "  Yale  probably  suffers  as  much  as  we 
did." 

But  though  the  visitor  had  forced  an  armistice 
in  the  household,  it  was  only  an  armistice  and 
not  peace.  The  strained  relations  between 
Beatrice  and  her  aunt  deepened  with  time  and 
rumour.  Practically  the  only  point  of  familiar 
contact  was  the  family  meals,  and  these  were 

59 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

occasions  of  dignity.  Beatrice  dealt  in  mono- 
syllables, Mrs.  Lambert  took  sly  peeps  at  a 
paper,  and  Edith  worried  both  by  her  starts  at 
conversation.  She  saw  that  something  had 
fractured  the  entente,  and  she  sought  to  play 
the  role  of  buffer.  What  the  trouble  was  she 
could  not  guess ;  nor  did  she  inquire.  Her  work 
had  put  her  out  of  touch  with  the  family,  and 
she  was  therefore  ignorant  of  her  sister's  tilts 
at  notoriety.  A  gust  that  swept  the  breakfast- 
table  one  morning  opened  her  eyes.  It  was  a 
dainty,  cheerful  apartment,  this  breakfast-room, 
—  a  place  with  the  spirit  of  morning  in  its 
delightful  angles  and  its  benediction  of  sunshine. 
Old  Dutch  blues  splayed  the  walls  in  the  nooks 
of  china-racks,  delicate  wares  burdened  the  side 
tables,  and  in  a  niche  in  the  wall,  where  a  side- 
board rested,  every  sunbeam  struck  from  the 
plate  and  glass  cataracts  of  silver  light.  Yet 
here  it  was,  where  environment  beckoned  on 
appetite,  that  an  explosion  occurred  which  shook 
the  trio  to  the  soul. 

Mrs.  Lambert  came  in  with  a  visible  increase 
of  chill.  She  applied  herself  straight  to  the 
paper,  and  smothered  the  table  in  silence.  Even 
Edith  felt  its  oppression. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  meal  Mrs.  Lambert 
60 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

chanced  to  look  up,  and  saw  Beatrice  leaning  back 
in  her  chair  regarding  her  with  a  look  astonishing 
for  its  weight  of  deliberate  insolence.  There  was 
such  provocation,  such  a  flat  challenge,  in  the 
whole  pose  that  it  fired  the  elder  woman's  anger 
like  magic.  She  laid  the  paper  aside  and  leaned 
forward. 

"  For  a  person  who  plays  harridan  at  night," 
she  said,  steadily,  "  you  have  more  impudence  in 
daylight,  Beatrice,  than  any  one  I  ever  met." 

Edith  gasped,  sat  up  stiffly,  and  clutched  the 
doth. 

"  I  say  you  have  more  than  the  average  share 
of  impudence,"  Mrs.  Lambert  continued,  in  a 
biting,  raging  way,  "  but  you  have  still  another 
quality.  You  recover  more  quickly  than  any 
victim  in  the  history  of  alcohol." 

Edith  settled  back  in  her  chair  with  a  look  of 
fright.  Beatrice  neither  stirred  nor  exclaimed, 
but  the  slow  whitening  of  her  face  told  of  the 
shock. 

"  That  is  an  insult,  Mrs.  Lambert,"  she  said, 
slowly. 

"  I  know  it  is  an  insult ;  it  is  only  by  insult 
that  you  can  be  made  to  appreciate  your  conduct." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  thank  Mr.  Holt  for  this 
commotion." 

61 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Mrs.  Lambert  rapped  the  table  in  a  tempest  of 
dissent. 

"  No,"  she  cried,  "  no.  Mr.  Holt  is  a  gentle- 
man. Mr.  Holt  —  " 

"  Do  not  thump  the  table,  auntie,"  snapped 
Beatrice,  "  it  is  vulgar." 

"  I  have  not  seen  Mr.  Holt,"  Mrs.  Lambert 
hurried  on,  "  but  you  came  home  in  a  cab  with 
General  O'Brien,  and  he  told  me  the  story  —  not 
Mr.  Holt.  He  had  no  choice  —  you  —  you  were 
beyond  speech.  I  demanded  an  explanation.  He 
told  me  the  story  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  it 
was  a  mean,  vile  story,  —  a  story  that  fits  no 
Cameron  woman  in  the  history  of  the  family. 
You  don't  want  to  hear  it,  do  you,  but  you  shall, 
and  if  it  brings  you  one-tenth  the  humiliation  it 
gave  me,  that  will  be  something.  You  went  to 
dinner  with  Mr.  Holt,  and  when  you  encountered 
General  O'Brien  you  made  him  a  guest.  You 
drank  yourself,  and  you  forced  Mr.  Holt,  who 
never  drank  a  drop  in  his  life,  to  drink  with  you. 
And  when  you  had  made  him  a  spectacle,  you 
taunted  him  before  the  fine  old  soldier,  who 
thought  you  a  glory  among  women.  Worse  than 
all,  you  shamed  them  before  the  world."  Mrs. 
Lambert  paused,  and  her  teeth  came  together 
with  a  snap.  "  Do  you  know  what  you  did  ? 
62 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

You  snatched  Mr.  Holt's  watch  and  hurled  it 
through  a  mirror.  But  the  sequel  is  bitter  as 
death  —  you  were  asked  to  leave  the  house. 
Think  of  it,  Beatrice — Ronald  Cameron's  daugh- 
ter ejected  from  a  hotel." 

Edith  half  rose  from  her  chair.  "  Oh,  auntie, 
stop !  "  she  murmured.  But  there  was  no  halt  in 
Mrs.  Lambert  now.  With  a  face  of  tumult  she 
made  the  lash  hiss  across  the  cloth. 

"  General  O'Brien  brought  you  home,'r  she 
cried,  "  and  Mr.  Holt  disappeared.  He  probably 
thought  himself  an  offence  in  your  sight.  I  shall 
find  Mr.  Holt,  and  when  I  do  I  shall  ask  him 
to  forgive  my  sin  in  letting  him  know  you.  I 
may  not  be  able  to  stop  his  becoming  a  drunkard, 
but  I  shall  save  him  from  deceit.  He  shall  not 
have  a  dream  that  is  nightmare,  neither  shall  he 
play  dupe  to  your  vanity." 

Mrs.  Lambert  stopped,  breathing  heavily,  and 
Beatrice  gathered  herself  for  retort.  Her  gaze 
on  her  aunt  was  a  blaze  of  anger.  But  all  in  a 
moment  she  relapsed.  The  flush  left  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  lost  the  glow  of  passion.  It  was 
a  triumph  of  natural  audacity. 

"  Your  handbook  of  insults,  auntie,"  she  said, 
smoothly,  "  is  very  exhaustive.  One  needs  years 
to  get  such  a  vixenish  tongue.  Nor  do  I  deny 

63 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

their  partial  application.  But  there  are  two 
things  of  which  you  need  reminder.  One  is  that 
Mr.  Holt  was  sent  by  you  to  pursue  me.  That 
is  shown  by  his  plea,  that  you  would  be  pleased  if 
I  did  certain  things  I  declined  to  do  —  among 
them,  marry  him.  I  have,  therefore,  small 
interest  in  his  welfare.  The  other  is  that  in  this 
madness  there  is  method,  as  you  should  know. 
If  I  fail  in  it,  I  shall  at  least  have  enjoyed  myself, 
though  I  admit  last  night  was  rather  beyond  my 
programme." 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  mean  by  programme  ?  " 
asked  Edith,  suddenly. 

Beatrice  turned  on  her  sister  with  irritation. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  you  may  not." 

Edith  flushed,  but  Mrs.  Lambert  weakened 
not  an  inch. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  hastening  on,  "  those  two 
statements  are  rivals  for  falseness.  Mr.  Holt 
we  will  not  discuss.  He  is  a  fortunate  man. 
He  discovered  before,  instead  of  after.  But  as 
for  your  thought  of  joining  the  plutocracy  under 
the  banner  of  notoriety,  let  me  say  that  you  are 
absurd.  I  do  not  see  why  you  imagine  they 
want  their  recruits  decked  with  infamy.  The 
plan  is  idiotic.  Finally,  I  do  not  believe  you  have 


64 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

any  such  illusion.  You  are  wicked  because  you 
would  rather  be  wicked  than  something  else." 

"  I  do  not  like  that  word  wicked.  It  is  not 
warranted." 

"  This  is  not  your  first  escapade,  remember." 

"  The  first  in  which  Mr.  Holt  was  engaged.  I 
suppose  that  is  all  you  care  about." 

"  Not  so.  I  have  endured  your  behaviour  for 
weeks,  hoping  for  an  awakening  —  believing,  too, 
that  it  was  caprice  and  not  crime." 

"'Caprice  is  more  charitable.  Wickedness  lies 
less  in  action  than  in  intent.  Let  us  not  be  tearful, 
auntie." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  let  us  not  have  an 
academic  discussion.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is 
that  you  are  a  martyr  to  heredity.  You  are 
legatee  for  the  sins  of  your  grandfather.  He  was 
the  only  man  in  the  family  who  dared  sit  on  a 
prison  board  of  directors  and  look  cell  occupants 
in  the  face." 

"  I  am  glad  heredity  has  come  to  the  rescue. 
This  is  not  a  matter  for  tragedy  —  in  fact,  I  feel 
no  worse  than  does  the  average  man  after  an 
average  outing." 

Mrs.  Lambert  looked  at  her  with  the  fag  ends 
of  anger  turning  to  disgust. 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  she  said,  rising,  "  there  is 

65 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

small  profit  in  discussing  either  defects  or 
recovery  with  a  person  lost  to  shame.  If  you  do 
not  turn,  I  am  helpless.  I  cannot  drive  you  away 
and  publish  my  own  disgrace.  I  shall  simply 
pray  for  your  recovery."  She  walked  to  the 
door,  and  then  turned.  "  But  I  shall  try  to  save 
Mr.  Holt." 

Beatrice  followed  her  aunt  to  the  door.  "  By 
all  means,"  she  said.  "  You  will  excuse  my  with- 
drawing," she  went  on,  "  but  I  can  see  Edith 
is  preparing  a  broadside,  and  I  think  I  am  entitled 
to  rest." 

Then  the  two  women  swept  out  and  the  storm 
was  over. 

Edith  sat  for  a  long  time  in  dismal  surprise. 
The  whole  scene  affected  her  as  a  stunning  revela- 
tion. She  had  never  suspected  evil  in  Beatrice, 
and  she  'had  no  knowledge  of  the  moral  defects 
revealed  by  the  hotel  episode.  Beyond  a  native 
habit  of  coquetry,  nothing  that  she  had  ever  seen 
had  prepared  her  for  the  scandal.  It  made  plain 
to  her  how  little  she  really  knew  of  her  sister. 
They  were  not  much  closer  than  acquaintances. 
But  it  was  less  painful  to  recall  Beatrice's 
escapade  than  the  manner  in  which  she  had 
treated  it.  Such  flippancy,  such  lightness, 


66 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

pointed  byways  in  her  character  unthought  of 
and  alarming. 

The  situation  called  on  her  for  action,  for 
Edith  was  one  of  those  rare  persons  in  whom 
conscience  is  a  force.  She  was  always  fearful  of 
leaving  undone  something  in  which  she  might 
have  acted  with  profit.  Now  was  no  time  to  be 
afraid. 

So  she  got  up  and  left  the  room,  full  of  zeal. 
She  expected  rebuff,  but  she  felt  within  her  the 
glow  of  the  missionary.  She  found  her  sister's 
door  locked,  but  she  called  her  several  times,  and 
finally  won  an  answer.  Beatrice  swung  the  door 
back  with  a  jerk  of  irritation. 

"  Come  in,  Edith,"  she  cried,  "  come  in.  I 
know  exactly  what  you  want,  and  I  would  rather 
you  got  it  off  your  mind  now  than  have  you 
lying  in  wait  for  me.  You  want  to  say  how  sorry 
you  are,  and  how  you  will  pray  for  me.  But 
get  it  over  quickly,  because  I  want  a  nap.  You 
know  I  need  sleep  —  auntie  told  you  that." 

Edith  halted,  flushed  and  uncertain.  She  felt 
a  strong  wish  to  retreat,  but  she  feared  her  con- 
science more  than  she  did  Beatrice. 

"  You  know,  dearest,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  I 
love  you  too  well  to  let  you  slip  away  from  us 
without  protest.  This  is  possibly  a  frolic,  but  it 

67 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

is  not  the  sort  of  pleasure  at  which  you  can  expect 
me  to  rejoice.  I  have  no  thought  of  badgering 
you  into  good  behaviour.  I  don't  even  know  that 
you  need  it." 

"  Well,"  answered  Beatrice,  with  a  flitting 
smile,  "  a  good  deal  of  auntie's  indictment 
stands." 

"  Then  you  can  hardly  be  surprised  at  our 
alarm." 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  said  Beatrice,  quickly. 
"  It  is  just  the  uproar  I  expected.  One  of  the 
worst  things  about  black-sheeping  it  in  a  respect- 
able family  is  being  talked  to  death  by  horrified 
relatives." 

Edith  looked  at  her  sister  closely.  She  won- 
dered whether  this  were  affectation  or  nature,  and 
the  sense  of  strangeness  came  on  afresh. 

"  You  do  not  mean  that,"  she  faltered ;  "  a  black 
sheep  in  petticoats  is  not  like  the  other.  There 
is  nothing  in  your  education  or  character,  dear, 
to  justify  such  folly.  You  are  Beatrice  Cam- 
eron." 

"  Quite  so,  Edith.  But,  Edith,  if  I  think  this 
course  desirable,  or  that  more  so,  I  do  not  consult 
my  character.  Also  I  am  not  on  the  defensive. 
My  sin  is  gaiety.  I  speak  thus  because  I  wish 
ease  for  your  conscience.  You  should  be  the 
68 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

last  to  assail  me.  You  profit  by  any  progress  I 
make,  and  if  you  cannot  aid  me  you  should  stand 
aside." 

"  Yes,  but  auntie  tells  us  that  is  a  cloak,"  said 
Edith,  firmly ;  "no  ambition  can  make  wrong 
right  nor  justify  wrong-doing." 

"  You  are  trading  in  platitudes.  You  talk  like 
a  Sunday-school  phenomenon,  and  do  you  know, 
Edith,  you  look  like  one  too.  You  have  golden 
hair  and  violet  eyes,  and  a  soft  blush  that  makes 
me  feel  as  if  the  horns  were  showing." 

Beatrice  stopped  in  her  walk,  and  stared  at 
Edith  amazedly.  "  I  wonder  where  you  came 
from,"  she  murmured.  "  You  must  have  been 
put  here  to  mock  me." 

"  You  may  be  jesting,  Beatrice,"  said  Edith, 
with  an  effort,  "  in  which  case  my  appeal  is 
useless,  or  you  may  be  indifferent,  but  I  implore 
you  not  to  give  auntie  another  such  sorrow.  I 
don't  ask  thought  for  myself ;  I  ask  it  for  her  — 
and  for  you." 

While  her  sister  spoke,  Beatrice  moved  to  the 
window  and  stood  watching  the  avenue's  flashing 
panorama.  She  turned  suddenly,  and  the  lines 
in  her  face  had  vanished  with  a  new  emotion. 
Her  eyes  were  soft  and  glowing. 

"  Edith,"  she  cried,  her  voice  full  of  passionate 

69 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

longing,  "  can  you  not  see  how  that  woman  has 
failed  me?  —  can  you  not  realise  how  my  every 
hope  and  plan  has  withered  under  her  selfishness  ? 
I  don't  wish  to  pain  you,  but  you  —  you  do  not 
know.  I  cannot  make  you  understand.  Look  at 
this,"  and  she  drew  her  impulsively  to  the 
window,  "  see  the  procession.  See  the  life  and 
gaiety  and  power  in  that  river,  and  look  at  me 
—  moving  in  this  eddy,  doing  nothing,  meeting 
no  one  —  I  who  thought  to  lead !  Those  car- 
riages are  going  to  Olders,  to  the  Fannings, 
while  I  must  stand  and  watch  them  pass.  It  is 
torture.  And,  Edith,"  she  went  on,  more  quietly, 
"  I  am  a  woman,  too.  I  would  be  glad  if  things 
came  easier  —  if  I  could  please  you  while  pleasing 
myself;  but  nothing  weighs  against  what  I  would 
have." 

"  I  know  that,  Beatrice,"  said  Edith,  slowly, 
"  and  I  try  to  sympathise.  But  why  not  wait  ? 
Is  it  worth  while  to  make  a  sacrifice  that  —  " 

"  Yes,  Edith,  yes,"  Beatrice  broke  out,  impa- 
tiently, "  it  is  worth  anything,  everything.  To 
wait  is  to  fail.  I  cannot  make  you  appreciate,  and 
we  will  not  talk  of  it  any  more.  Let  me  rest, 
Edith,  —  and  thank  you  for  your  interest." 

She  threw  herself  on  a  conch,  her  face  buried  in 


70 


A     SOCIAL    .COCKATRICE 

her  hands,  and  Edith,  after  a  second's  hesitation, 
slipped  from  the  room. 

Up-stairs  Mrs.  Lambert  hurried  to  climax  her 
outburst.  She  dwelt  with  admiration  on  the 
breakfast  whirlwind,  and  would  have  liked  to 
rest,  to  revive  the  explosion,  and  to  speculate  on 
its  effects.  But  she  was  eager  to  learn  what  had 
become  of  Philip  Holt.  It  was  impossible  to  wait 
the  sequel.  She  must  see  for  herself. 

Therefore  she  groomed  and  gowned,  and  called 
for  a  carriage,  in  search  of  the  knight  who,  wear- 
ing her  colours,  had  fallen  in  the  lists. 

It  was  not  from  any  view  a  pleasant  enterprise. 
For  awhile  the  exaltation  braced  her,  but  it  was 
pushed  aside  by  the  broad  shoulder  of  failure. 
She  began  to  realise  that  her  scheme  of  salvation 
had  foundered  in  the  quicksand  of  Beatrice's 
morals,  and  she  thought  solemnly  of  her  brother's 
remark :  "  Let  us  hope  she  does  not  convert  him." 
It  was  not  now  a  question  of  advance,  but  retreat 
—  not  whether  Beatrice  could  be  saved,  but  could 
Holt?  She  had  realised  his  failure  that  time  in 
the  picture-gallery,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to 
her  that  withdrawal  was  not  always  possible. 
At  any  point  where  it  was  desirable  she  expected 
it  to  occur.  His  pursuit  of  Beatrice  to  the  very 
door  of  dishonour  was  an  indictment  of  her  own 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

common  sense  and  a  promise  of  disaster.  It  pal- 
liated nothing  that  her  intention  had  been  of  the 
best. 

So  while  the  carriage  rolled  toward  Holt's 
apartments,  her  fears  shook  her  like  a  small 
demon  of  wrath. 

In  the  sitting-room  of  his  suite  she  awaited  his 
appearance  with  dancing  nerves.  She  dreaded 
the  legacy  of  last  night's  disorder.  She  had 
never  known  Holt  other  than  rosy-cheeked,  sunny- 
eyed.  What  apparition  of  lost  honour  would 
confront  her,  and,  with  intent  or  without,  wave 
at  her  its  finger  of  reproach  ?  But  the  truth  was 
harder  to  bear  than  her  imaginings.  As  he  came 
into  the  sunlight  of  the  little  room,  she  sprang  up 
with  a  smothered  cry.  He  was  a  sight  to  behold. 
His  cheeks  were  pale  with  the  pallor  of  a  sick 
man,  great  rings  hollowed  his  eyes,  and  his  whole 
face  was  sabred  with  lines  that  seemed  to  have 
grown  in  the  night.  Her  hands  flew  out  in  a 
gesture  of  sympathy. 

"  You  poor  boy !  "  she  cried. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  in  a  quaint, 
boyish  way,  and  struggled  with  a  smile. 

"  Where  is  Beatrice?  "  he  asked. 

"  Beatrice,"     she    answered,     heavily.       "  O, 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Beatrice  is  at  home,  and  —  and  —  quite  sober, 
Philip." 

He  looked  at  her  solemnly. 

"  Did  she  speak  of  our  dinner  ?  I  was  very 
sorry  to  lose  her;  we  became  separated." 

"  O,  no,  she  did  not  speak  of  anything. 
General  O'Brien  supplied  the  facts."  Holt 
dropped  her  hands  with  a  start. 

"General  O'Brien?"  he  exclaimed.  "Then 
General  O'Brien  shall  account  to  me.  We  had 
a  little  commotion,  yes,  but  nothing  to  warrant 
his  playing  gossip.  He  —  " 

"  I  forced  General  O'Brien  to  speak.  It  was 
due  to  his  honour.  No  man  may  bring  home  an 
intoxicated  girl,  and  deliver  her  as  though  a 
bundle  of  goods.  He  acted  splendidly." 

"Then  you  have  come  to  reproach  me?" 

"  That  is  sarcasm,  Philip.  I  have  come  to  drag 
you  back  from  the  trap  my  ignorance  set.  I  want 
you  to  abandon  the  mission.  It  is  to  avert  re- 
proach, not  impose  it,  that  I  am  here." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Lambert?" 

"  Look  in  the  glass,  Philip,"  she  answered, 
gently,  "  and  you  will  see.  Let  us  have  no  blind- 
man's  buff.  I  asked  you  to  arrest  what  I  viewed 
as  Beatrice's  folly.  Why,  the  woman  is  absolutely 
wicked.  You  cannot  save  her,  nor  do  I  think 

73 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

salvation  possible  until  she  has  exhausted  her 
tendencies.  She  has  no  moral  sense;  she  is 
careless  of  results,  and  her  will  is  in  arms  against 
restraint.  My  concern  is  with  you.  I  have  done 
a  dangerous  and  a  foolish  thing;  I  want  you  to 
withdraw  before  my  mistake  becomes  worse." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  are  giving  undue  weight 
to  last  night's  affair?  Is  it  right  to  pile  up  such 
an  indictment  on  trifling  errors  ?  " 

"  The  matter  is  not  trifling,  and,  believe  me, 
it  is  only  one  of  several  similar  incidents.  The 
mere  fact  of  her  making  you  drink  is  enough. 
The  meanest  drinking  man  alive  takes  no  pride 
in  creating  a  drunkard." 

"  You  must  let  me  stop  you  there ;  it  was  I 
who  gave  consent.  I  cannot  permit  her  to 
shoulder  my  weakness." 

Mrs.  Lambert  walked  over  to  a  settee  and  sank 
down  wearily. 

"  We  will  not  discuss  Beatrice's  faults  more 
than  we  need  to,"  she  said.  "  They  are  to  me 
beyond  argument.  I  simply  want  you  to  promise 
that  you  will  drop  her  entirely.  She  is  in  no 
sense  a  fit  companion  for  you,  and  still  less  a 
mate.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to  me  that  you  do 
not  know  this  by  instinct  if  not  by  knowledge." 

Philip  looked  at  Mrs.  Lambert  doubtfully,  and 

74 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

then  seated  himself  beside  her  as  though  to 
soften  opposition. 

"  You  know  that  I  love  her,"  he  said,  with 
quiet  assertion. 

"  I  know  that  you  said  in  the  picture-gallery 
that  you  loved  her,  and  at  the  time  I  hoped  it  was 
true.  But  when  I  unfolded  Beatrice's  character 
I  thought  that  you  could  at  any  time  withdraw, 
and  I  expect  you  to  do  so  now.  I  will  not 
believe  your  affections  are  involved  —  if  I  did, 
my- heart  would  break." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  would  be  bidding  for  Dead  Sea 
fruit.  She  does  not  love  you.  My  poor  boy, 
she  cannot  love  you.  She  cannot  love  any  man. 
Selfishness  controls  every  pulse  in  her  body. 
Such  women  know  no  more  of  mutual  affection 
than  automatons.  In  addition  to  this,  I  tell  you 
the  woman  is  bad.  She  is  base,  not  in  caprice, 
but  in  nature.  O,  Philip !  "  she  cried,  starting  to 
her  feet,  "  tell  me  that  you  will  turn  back.  Say  it 
is  fancy.  Do  not  force  upon  me  the  burden  of 
the  fate  you  invite."  Her  fingers  went  in  a 
flutter  to  his  arms.  "  I  am  afraid  of  her,  Philip. 
You  cannot  win  her,  and  it  would  be  terrible 
if  you  did.  I  beg  of  you,  I  implore  you,  abandon 
the  thought." 

75 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Philip  looked  at  Mrs.  Lambert  in  amazement. 
Her  face  was  white,  her  lips  trembled,  and  he 
noticed  with  awe  that  in  a  trifling  while  she 
seemed  to  have  grown  years  older.  Nothing  that 
he  knew  justified  such  alarm.  He  felt  himself 
responsible  for  the  shame  of  the  night,  and  if 
Beatrice  was  ordinarily  casual  and  sometimes 
repellent  it  did  not  follow  that  she  was  base. 

It  had  to  be  admitted  that  on  occasions  Beatrice 
had  blazed  out  upon  him  in  a  way  to  support  Mrs. 
Lambert's  warning,  also  that  his  progress  had 
been  feeble,  but  long  ago  he  had  regretted  the 
scene  in  the  gallery  and  been  ashamed.  In  the 
meantime,  the  flame  in  his  heart  mounted  higher 
and  yet  higher.  He  could  not  smother  it  on 
demand. 

"  Mrs.  Lambert,"  he  said,  soothingly,  "  what 
you  ask  is  dictated  not  by  reason,  but  by  the  love 
I  have  cherished  years  upon  years.  I  do  not  share 
your  views,  but  I  am  willing  to  admit  them,  if 
need  be,  and  still  I  cannot  withdraw.  It  is  one 
thing  to  start  a  blaze;  it  is  another  to  quench  it." 

"  You  do  not  mean,  surely,  that  your  manhood 
is  forfeit  to  desire?" 

"  Possibly.  I  have  changed  greatly  of  late. 
Calm,  unemotional  things  appeal  to  me  less  than 
the  splendid  fever  which  is  the  price  of  conversion. 
76 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

I  cannot  heed  your  warning,  but  I  can  release 
you  from  responsibility  —  yes,  even  thank  you 
for  the  commission." 

"  She  does  not  love  you." 

"  That  is  a  matter  for  correction." 

"  She  will  play  vampire  to  your  soul  —  and 
you  will  lose." 

"  I  have  told  you  already  that  I  am  heedless 
of  cost;  the  rest  is  the  adventure  of  the  chase. 
Let  me  not  be  hypocritical.  If  faith  and  honour 
are' needed  to  balance  the  scale  of  that  girl's  love, 
into  the  scale  they  go." 

Mrs.  Lambert  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  face 
pitiful  in  its  gray  veil  of  regret.  She  fumbled 
blindly  with  her  wraps,  and  moved  toward  the 
door. 

"  In  trying  to  save  one  soul,"  she  murmured, 
"  I  have  lost  two." 

Philip  followed  her  remorsefully.  "  Do  not 
despair,"  he  said,  with  strained  cheerfulness.  "  I 
may  fulfil  your  mission  yet.  I  will  follow  her, 
yes,  but,  who  knows,  she  may  turn  and  follow 
me." 

Mrs.  Lambert  paused  in  the  doorway  and 
shook  her  head  solemnly. 

"  No,  Philip,"  she  said,  "  there  is  but  one  way, 
—  to  withdraw." 

77 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  Then  that  way  is  not  mine ;  Beatrice  is  my 
fate." 

Mrs.  Lambert  leaned  forward  and  pressed  his 
hand  gently. 

"  You  poor,  poor  boy,"  she  whispered,  "  she 
is  your  doom." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

7j  y/"RS.  LAMBERT  rode  home,  feeling 
/  yl  that  the  calm  of  her  days  was  for  ever 
shattered.  She  had  meant  to  the  full 
her  warnings,  and  Philip's  attitude  filled  her  with 
concern.  Where  would  it  end?  How  could  it 
end  otherwise  than  against  the  prayers  she  raised 
even  at  the  moment?  Whatever  hope  of  success 
he  hugged  would,  she  felt,  go  to  certain  wreck- 
age. His  suit  was  not  merely  ordained  to  failure ; 
it  had  failed  already.  And  it  was  no  comfort 
to  think  that  any  other  man  would  have  suffered 
the  same. 

Mrs.  Lambert  wondered  at  his  persistence.  It 
meant  a  surrender  of  lifetime  convictions.  It 
revealed  an  ardour,  which,  balked  or  repulsed,  bid 
for  a  tragical  sequel,  and  this  sequel,  whatever 
its  burden,  would  be  the  price  of  her  folly. 
Philip's  offer  of  responsibility,  too,  was  a  mockery. 
That  weight  was  for  her  shoulders  alone  —  not 
even  kindly  intent  might  relieve  its  pressure.  So, 
scourged  by  alarms,  she  thought  for  one  desperate 

79 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

moment  of  throwing  herself  at  Beatrice's  knees 
and  crying  for  mercy,  —  mercy  for  him  and 
through  him  for  herself.  Then  her  reason  pic- 
tured the  result.  She  could  see  Beatrice  look 
down  on  her  with  that  slow  forming  smile  and 
eyes  heavy-lidded  with  insolence. 

"  Why,  certainly,  auntie,"  she  would  say,  "  Mr. 
Holt?  I  entertain  for  him  only  the  kindest  feel- 
ings. He  can  take  his  place  with  the  leading 
candidates.  I  do  not  know  but  what  your  request 
may  advance  him  a  few  numbers." 

No,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  stand  aside 
and  hope  that  he  might  take  the  certain  blow  as 
a  strong  man.  But  whatever  the  outcome,  she 
prayed  that  there  might  be  no  heart-breaking  play 
at  cat  and  mouse.  Meantime  she  would  do  what 
she  could.  First  of  all  there  must  be  a  retreat 
from  the  ground  taken  in  the  morning's  battle. 
It  would  never  do  to  encircle  Philip  with  one 
arm,  and  with  the  other  club  Beatrice  into  chronic 
hostility.  Nothing  short  of  surrender  could  bring 
a  profitable  peace. 

Mrs.  Lambert's  first  move  to  this  end  was  a 
somersault.  Within  twenty- four  hours  she  had 
executed  an  about-face  that  puzzled  Beatrice  and 
astounded  her  sister.  She  made  no  further  men- 


80 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

tion  of  the  dinner  episode,  ignored  Holt,  and 
was  sweetly  affable. 

It  was  due  less  to  poor  acting  perhaps  than 
to  anxiety  that  she  overshot  the  mark.  After 
her  first  rush  of  surprise  Beatrice  nourished  sus- 
picion. She  saw  Holt  everywhere  in  the  back- 
ground; she  even  suspected  him  of  complicity, 
and  it  aroused  in  her  a  fresh  and  lively  contempt. 
Meantime,  the  new  tone  was  pleasant,  for  Mrs. 
Lambert  urged  her  to  a  wider  freedom,  and  prom- 
ised-her  cooperation  as  well. 

"  I  do  hope,  Beatrice,"  she  said,  that  evening, 
"  that  both  yourself  and  Edith  will  make  a  more 
generous  use  of  my  hospitality.  I  rarely  see  any 
of  your  friends  here,  and  it  is  certain  that  since 
coming  to  New  York  you  must  have  acquired 
quite  a  few." 

"  That  is  good  of  you,  auntie,"  responded 
Edith,  promptly,  "  but  my  friends  are  largely 
charity  workers  who,  while  worthy  enough,  are 
not  of  the  social  temperament." 

"  And  mine,"  echoed  Beatrice,  "  while  of  the 
social  temperament,  are  not  otherwise  worthy  — 
judged  by  your  standards." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lambert, 
timidly. 

"  Well,  they  are,  classified  generally,  of  the 

81 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

smart  set,  —  for  you  know,  auntie,  we  have  a 
smart  set  in  the  middle-class  ranks  quite  as  they 
have  in  society,  —  men  and  women  with  easy- 
fitting  views  of  things,  people  who  know  how  to 
enjoy  life.  I  fear  they  might  irritate  you." 

"  Very  possibly  they  would.  I  never  cared  for 
license.  Still  I  have  no  wish  to  be  selfish." 

"  How  may  I  know  that  I  am  not  trespassing? 
For  instance,  there  are  several  women,  well,  let 
us  say  something  after  my  own  stamp,  whom  I 
should  like  to  entertain  here  rather  than  at  hotels. 
Likewise,  there  are  various  men.  But  they  are 
modern.  I  wish  first  to  be  sure  of  my  ground." 

"  It  is  not  to  be  supposed,"  observed  Edith, 
wonderingly,  "  that  you  will  take  advantage  of 
auntie's  kindness  to  bring  undesirable  people. 
We  are  merely  visitors." 

Beatrice  turned  her  dark  eyes  on  Edith  coldly. 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  great  pain  to  me,"  she  said, 
"  that  you  will  not  remember  that  you  are  junior 
to  your  sister.  My  characters  do  not  wear  laurels 
for  sanctity.  I  said  that  myself,  but  they  do  not 
import  bacilli  from  tenement-houses,  and  so 
they  rather  discount  the  workers  after  all.  By 
the  way,"  she  added,  "  I  would  suggest  that 
you  stay  out  of  the  East  Side  until  the  epidemic 


82 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

is  over.  Auntie  can  get  over  an  infliction  of 
loose  morals  much  easier  than  the  diphtheria." 

"  Gently,  Beatrice,  dear,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Lambert,  "  I  cannot  imagine  that  you  will  abuse 
my  trust.  In  any  case  I  desire  to  remain  in  the 
shadow.  You  take  the  house  and  the  sceptre  of 
hostess,  while  I  direct  the  housekeeping  from 
behind  the  scenes." 

"  It  is  wrong  of  you  to  play  hermit,"  remarked 
Edith.  "  Society  loses  by  the  exchange." 

"  That  is  one  of  Edith's  best  efforts,"  Beatrice 
observed,  icily.  "  It  takes  the  innocent  young  to 
throw  these  hand-grenade  compliments." 

Though  she  repressed  it,  Beatrice's  pleasure  at 
the  concession  was  great.  It  meant  to  her  a  much 
needed  stage  for  manoeuvres;  it  meant  also  the 
placing  in  her  hands  of  a  trio  of  social  crowbars, 
—  prestige,  freedom,  and  chaperonage.  All  these 
she  needed,  and  their  lack  had  interfered  with  the 
free-lancing  for  conquest.  There  were,  besides, 
entertainment  debts  to  pay,  and  their  acquittal 
in  the  hotels  —  even  fashionable  hotels  —  always 
seemed  a  check  to  progress. 

The  damper  to  Beatrice's  visions  lay  in  her 
visiting-list.  There  were  several  names  there 
which  would,  she  feared,  prove  an  offence  to  the 
patrician  spirit  of  her  aunt;  possibly,  indeed, 

83 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

cause  her  to  repent.  They  were  names,  too,  she 
had  no  desire  to  scratch,  —  lieutenants  ready  at 
her  elbow  to  forward  ambition,  and  needful  as 
lieutenants.  These  must  not  be  shut  out. 

"  I  wish  to  explain  to  you,  aunt,"  began  Bea- 
trice, suddenly,  "  what  I  meant  by  possibly  un- 
congenial friends.  You  know  your  house  has 
been  closed  for  years.  This  has  thrown  me  on 
my  own  resources.  I  have  no  wish  for  a  society 
less  than  the  highest,  but  in  order  to  reach  it  I 
am  forced  to  pass  the  intermediate  stage.  I  am 
congenial  with  people  whom  I  promise  you  to 
afterward  forget.  Meantime,  a  few  of  these 
are  useful,  others  are  necessary,  and,  if  I  invite 
any  one  here,  some  of  the  latter  must  come. 
These  are  the  people  you  will  not  like." 

"  In  effect,  they  champion  your  ambition  ?  " 
"  Exactly ;    you   see  you   have  admitted   you 
cannot  win  me  my  place.     I   have  had  to  do 
what    I    could.      There    is    Mrs.    Jewett,    for 
example." 

Mrs.  Lambert  started  forward  in  her  seat. 

"  Beatrice,"  she  exclaimed,  "  not  that  woman !  " 

"  She  is  probably  the  worst  of  the  lot,  but  she 

is  very  useful.    Just  now  I  could  hardly  dispense 

with  her.     It  will  interest  you  to  know,  auntie, 


84 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

that  she  warns  me  against  notoriety  as  a  carte 
de  visit e.  That  fits  with  your  ideas,  I  believe." 

"  Quite  so,  but  it  is  a  strange  quarter  from 
which  to  get  support.  You  know  her,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  O,  yes,  lawyer's  wife,  banker's  wife,  states- 
man's wife,  —  widow  of  them  all.  But  she  knows 
society,  pardon  me,  plutocracy.  She  is  a  female 
Lucifer,  but  while  she  is  out,  and  I  guess  will 
stay  out,  she  knows  paths  by  which  I  may  get 
in."- 

"  It  must  be  admitted  that  she  is  a  singular 
woman,  —  unfortunate,  too,  perhaps.  But  let  me 
say  that  I  have  no  wish  to  review  your  visitors. 
I  believe  your  ideas  to  be  as  false  as  your  ambi- 
tions, and  I  have  sympathy  with  neither.  I  have 
done  all  I  could  to  save  you.  What  I  do  now  I 
do  as  a  —  "  Mrs.  Lambert  halted  in  some  con- 
fusion ;  then  she  resumed  hastily,  "  with  a  desire 
to  entertain.  But  I  make  one  condition  which  I 
insist  on." 

Beatrice  nodded. 

"  And  that  is  that  never  at  any  time  do  you 
expose  your  dear  sister  to  doubtful  influences. 
Remember  that,  Beatrice." 

It  was  a  grave  and  pretty  assent  that  Beatrice 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

gave,  but  she  smiled  covertly  at  the  red  tide  that 
surged  from  Edith's  chin  to  brow. 

Thus  abruptly,  and  in  somewhat  clumsy  fash- 
ion, Mrs.  Lambert  seized  on  a  forlorn  hope  for 
Philip's  salvation.  In  effect,  she  abdicated  as 
head  of  the  house.  Had  she  been  able  to  direct 
the  festivities  herself,  she  would  have  felt  a  sense 
of  completeness,  but  she  disliked  the  work,  and 
took  refuge  behind  her  age  and  ill  health. 

On  the  afternoon  following  Mrs.  Lambert's 
surrender  Beatrice  telephoned  to  Mrs.  Jewett's 
hotel,  and  the  two  drove  down  to  the  Waldorf. 
Beatrice  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  the  tea-room, 
although  the  social  parade  tried  her  sorely.  It 
was  too  much  like  looking  over  the  wall.  Mrs. 
Jewett  had  a  most  unpleasant  habit,  too,  of 
pointing  out  the  elect  and  demanding  reverence. 

"  I  could  stand  your  discourse  better,  Alice," 
remonstrated  Beatrice,  one  day,  "  if  I  did  not 
think  I  should  be  in  the  march  instead  of  a 
spectator." 

"O,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  subtly,  "I  thought 
you  wished  to  know  your  future  associates."  Nor 
was  it  pleasing  to  Beatrice  that  her  companion 
occasionally  won  a  distant  nod  or  a  reminiscent 
stare  more  damning  than  gracious.  It  was  just 
a  trifle  worse  than  to  be  ignored.  Also  it  threw 
86 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

doubt  on  her  wisdom  in  holding  their  friendship. 
Still  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Jewett  was  something  of 
an  affinity,  and  Beatrice  refused  to  probe  the  past 
merely  to  explain  the  present.  Mrs.  Jewett  was 
experienced;  that  was  enough. 

They  selected  a  tete-a-tete  table  in  a  little 
alcove,  from  which  they  could  look  out  on  the 
brilliant  company,  and  where  the  music  came 
in  faint,  melodious  throbbings.  Mrs.  Jewett's 
eyes  roved  over  the  scene  fondly. 

"•It  is  a  cameo,"  she  whispered,  "a  picture 
of  the  only  life  worth  living." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Beatrice,  "  and  to-day  I  am 
in  particular  form  to  appreciate  it.  I  feel  less 
like  tea  than  champagne." 

"  It  would  be  more  pleasant,  I  know.  Still, 
tea  is  harmless." 

"  Physically,  yes.  As  a  stimulant  to  gossip  it 
has  a  dishonourable  history.  But  my  spirit  is 
amber.  We  are  celebrating." 

"  Have  we  a  reason  ?  We  have  done  it  without, 
you  know." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  for  a  reason,  —  a 
New  York  mansion,  myself  in  the  office  of  host- 
ess, and  carte  blanche.  It  is  a  thunderbolt  of 
good  luck." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Lambert  gone  travelling?  " 

87 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

Beatrice  beamed  in  triumph. 

"  O,  no,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  abdication. 
She  is  everything,  only  ex-officio,  you  understand. 
I  hold  a  commission,  and,  Alice,  I  promise  you  a 
carnival." 

"  I  do  not  think  your  aunt  realises  what  she 
is  doing,"  observed  Mrs.  Jewett,  slowly.  "  How 
did  it  happen?  I  thought  her  retirement  ante- 
dated even  mine." 

"  I  cannot  explain.  There  is  a  man  in  the 
case." 

"I  see;  I  see;  auntie's  man;  desperate  reme- 
dies for  desperate  cases.  Truly,  the  champagne 
would  be  justified.  But  what  of  your  sister 
Edith?" 

"  Nothing  of  Edith." 

"  So  easy  as  that !  Then  I  say,  sound  the 
advance.  I  believe  you  are,  after  much  wander- 
ing, on  the  highway.  What  makes  your  position 
strong  is  that  Mrs.  Lambert  moved  voluntarily. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  man  ?  " 

"  Think  of  something  else,  Alice." 

"  O,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  unabashed, 
"  it  is  not  very  interesting." 

Mrs.  Jewett  looked  at  Beatrice  idly,  while  she 
tried  to  figure  on  the  chances  developed  by  Mrs. 
Lambert's  move.  She  had  only  known  her  'com- 
88 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

panion  for  a  brief  time,  but  she  had  become 
interested  in  her  personality,  and  of  late  had 
learned  to  look  on  Beatrice  as  promising  material. 
This  idea  indeed  had  grown  from  a  point  merely 
entertaining  to  one  of  possible  profit,  and  now 
with  a  theatre  of  operations  the  vista  was  wi- 
dened. It  might  pay  her  to  take  this  ambition 
in  charge. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  breaking  her  reverie, 
"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me  discourse  awhile 
on  system  and  opportunity.  No  fulminates,  my 
dear;  just  advice.  I  am  going  to  give  you  the 
best  known  receipt  for  social  conquest." 

"  You  talk  as  though  you  really  believed  it," 
said  Beatrice,  laughingly ;  "  it  is  what  the  news- 
papers call  '  important  if  true.' ' 

"It  is  your  place  to  believe;  not  mine.  I 
have  wondered  whether  it  was  worth  while  giving 
you  the  formula.  You  have  floundered  in  such 
dreadful  fashion  and  stirred  up  so  much  muddy 
water  that  I  thought  for  a  time  you  were  impos- 
sible. But  your  audacity,  your  beauty,  and  your 
fortune,  my  dear,  appeal  to  me  as  elements  too 
desirable  to  waste.  I  am  disposed  to  work  a 
miracle.  It  can  be  done.  My  wealth,  my  influ- 
ence, count  for  hardly  anything  —  my  experience 
discounts  both." 

89 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

Mrs.  Jewett  stopped  with  a  retrospective  look 
in  her  dark  eyes,  half  happiness.  Her  fine 
features,  still  holding  the  graceful  imprint  of 
youth,  glowed  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Never  mind  your  credentials,  Alice,"  said 
Beatrice,  rilling  the  pause,  "  let  us  have  the 
receipt." 

"  I  have  already  given  it  to  you  in  fragments. 
It  is  told  in  a  single  word,  —  entertainment." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  I  thought  we  were  going  to  have 
something  magical.  It  is  to  be  believed  in,  of 
course.  I  am  going  in  for  it  myself.  But  you 
can  hardly  call  it  an  infallible  receipt." 

Mrs.  Jewett  viewed  her  companion  carefully, 
alert  for  sarcasm. 

"  Can  you  suggest  any  other  short  cut?  "  she 
asked,  aggressively.  "  Does  not  social  history 
teach  you  that  when  every  other  method  has 
failed,  the  masters  of  entertainment  always  turn 
defeat  into  victory  ?  " 

''  Yes,  I  admit  that  the  best  society  contains 
men  and  women  who  hold  reputations  as  enter- 
tainers. But  that  is  incidental.  I  cannot  believe 
it  won  them  their  spurs." 

"  But  you  must  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
with  a  touch  of  impatience.  "  Those  very  men 
and  women  bought  their  way  by  systematic  enter- 
90 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

taining ;  nothing  else.  Their  other  claims  to  elec- 
tion were  generally  trifling,  often  non-existent. 
Have  you  never  heard  of  the  statesman  who  gave 
a  metropolitan  song-bird  a  thousand  dollars  for 
every  aria  she  chose  to  render  his  guests?  Have 
you  never  heard  of  the  miner's  wife  who  ran  four 
special  trains  to  Florida  to  celebrate  a  single 
banquet  in  an  orange  grove?  Did  these  people 
win?  Of  course  they  won." 

"  They  were  advertising  artists,"  remarked 
Beatrice. 

"  Quite  so.  And  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  take  a  leaf  from  their  book.  That, 
by  the  way,  is  a  check-book." 

Beatrice  looked  at  Mrs.  Jewett  with  freshening 
interest. 

"  If  I  really  thought  that  money  applied  as  you 
suggest  meant  victory,  I  would  sign  checks  night 
and  day,"  she  said. 

"  You  would  have  to,  my  dear.  But  try  and 
be  logical,"  Mrs.  Jewett  went  on,  with  a  quiver 
of  spite  in  her  tones.  "  Other  than  by  this  path 
what  chance  have  you  to  enter  society?  It  is 
months  since  you  came  to  New  York,  and  what 
have  you  accomplished  ?  What  prospect  is  there 
that  you  will  ever  go  any  further?  And,  mind 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

you,  I  say  nothing  of  your  antics  in  the  byways. 
Those  may  be  lived  down." 

"  This  is  what  annoys  me,"  cut  in  Beatrice, 
eagerly.  "  It  is  so,  and  why  is  it  so  ?  I  have 
the  credentials,  every  one  of  them,  —  family, 
money,  education,  and  beauty.  Why  have  I  failed 
to  secure  a  place  to  which  my  endowment  entitles 
me?  Why?  Why?  No  wonder  I  became  des- 
perate." 

Mrs.  Jewett  smiled  at  the  volley. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  why 
should  society  welcome  you  ?  Let  us  look  it  over 
practically.  You  came  to  New  York  with  the 
veneration  of  a  small  city  to  suggest  to  you  an 
equivalent  position  here.  You  assumed  a  patent 
of  universal  nobility.  Is  that  not  so?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Beatrice,  defiantly,  "  why 
should  I  not  ?  " 

"  Because  while  such  a  patent  may  go  from 
New  York,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  can  come 
here.  You  should  have  stayed  in  New  Orleans 
until  you  were  leader  there.  Even  then  it  might 
not  have  answered.  But  what  have  you  to  offer 
society  in  exchange  for  its  interest  not  common 
to  a  legion  of  other  candidates?  You  are  crude 
—  you  are  raw  —  New  York  standard,  you  know, 
and,  truly,  Bab,  but  for  the  saving  grace  of  your 
92 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

money,  I  could  myself  sit  here  and  laugh  at  the 
steep  of  your  aspirations." 

Mrs.  Jewett  ended  her  declaration  in  a  modu- 
lated purr  designed  to  rob  it  of  sting,  but 
Beatrice  was  all  aflame  on  the  instant.  She 
leaned  toward  her  critic  with  eyes  full  of  menace. 

"  Reproaches  seem  a  routine  with  me  of  late," 
she  cried,  "  but  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should 
admit  them  from  a  social  outcast.  I  suspect  your 
reputation  is  quite  as  low  as  my  ambition  is  high. 
And  let  me  tell  you,"  she  continued,  with  the 
hard,  wolfish  look  strong  in  her  face,  "  if  I  did 
not  believe  you  were  more  theoretical  than  per- 
sonal, I  should  leave  this  table  at  once." 

Mrs.  Jewett  neither  flushed,  moved,  nor  spoke. 
Instead  she  unfolded  on  her  companion  a  smile, 
neatly  demoralising.  It  bespoke  disgust,  amuse- 
ment, and  a  sense  of  superiority. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  with  elaborate 
tenderness,  "  you  are  convicted  out  of  your  own 
mouth." 

"  Maybe  I  am,"  answered  Beatrice.  "  I  prefer 
it  to  come  from  my  own  rather  than  yours." 

"  You  have  shown  in  one  sentence  why  you 
require  the  intervention  of  Mammon,"  Mrs. 
Jewett  went  on,  evenly.  "  You  are  crude,  I 
repeat,  and  you  are,  moreover,  hopelessly  vulgar. 

93 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

You  burlesque  ambition.  What  you  need  is 
reorganisation." 

Beatrice  gloomed  at  her  censor. 

"  It  is  possible  that  I  have  been  forward,"  Mrs. 
Jewett  continued,  indifferently,  "  and  even  harsh. 
Charge  it  to  enthusiasm.  I  was  stirred  by  the 
belief,  that  if  you  took  stock  of  your  failings,  and 
reformed,  anything  might  be  possible.  In  my 
hands  in  two  years,  —  but,  if  you  please,  I  will 
ring  for  my  wraps." 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Beatrice,  with  an  impulsive 
change  of  front,  "  I  apologise.  Where  there  is 
so  much  smoke  there  must  be  fire.  But  pray, 
file  your  javelins  a  trifle,  Alice;  they  hurt." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  with  a  re- 
sponsive shift  to  geniality,  "  you  need  javelins 
less  than  pruning-knives.  You  are  embarked  on 
no  mean  venture." 

Each  sipped  her  tea  to  win  back  calm.  Then 
Beatrice  resumed. 

"  Alice,"  she  said,  curiously,  "  be  frank ;  why 
this  interest?  " 

Mrs.  Jewett  laid  down  her  cup  with  a  movement 
of  surprise. 

"  Why,  can't  you  see?  I  am  to  be  rehabilitated. 
I  should  hope  to  engineer  you  into  leadership. 
You  would  then  drag  me  up  after  you." 

94 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  That  sounds  illogical,"  said  Beatrice,  drily. 
"  If  you  can  do  this  for  me,  why  not  for  yourself? 
By  the  way,  your  thought  of  reentering  society 
surprises  me.  I  fancied  you  despised  your  old 
affiliations." 

"  You  noticed  that  I  used  the  word  '  drag,'  did 
you  not  ? " 

"Drag?    Yes,  O,  yes." 

"  Well,  it  will  require  dragging  and  nothing 
else  to  put  me  where  I  was  five  years  ago,"  Mrs. 
Jewett  declared,  with  blunt  simplicity.  "  It  will 
be  easier  to  install  you  than  to  restore  myself. 
So  far  as  I  may  have  suggested  disdain,  that 
is  affectation.  I  shall  never  be  content  until  I 
am  restored." 

"  Then  even  you,  who  know  this  hated  plu- 
tocracy, deem  it  worth  a  fight,"  said  Beatrice, 
warmly.  "  It  is  novel  to  hear  any  one  admit 
that." 

"  Beatrice,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  solemnly,  "  it  is 
the  only  tolerable  band  of  people  on  earth.  They 
have  all  the  money,  all  the  education,  all  the 
graces,  that  the  rest  of  humanity  lack.  They  are 
the  best  men  and  the  best  women  in  New  York. 
O,  I  am  perfectly  caddish  about  society;  it  is 
the  natural  nobility  in  a  raw  democracy." 


95 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  You  are  very  confident  as  to  my  case.  I  have 
found  it  rather  discouraging." 

"  I  look  on  you  as  possible  salvation.  Permit 
me,  and  I  will  give  you  your  desire,  —  but  you 
must  look  after  me." 

"  This  exile,  how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  O,  I  abused  my  privileges,"  Mrs.  Jewett 
answered,  coolly,  "  but  I  really  think  my  offence 
lay  in  being  found  out." 

"  I  thought  the  world  we  aspired  to  was  lenient 
in  such  matters  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jewett  looked  at  her  companion  doubt- 
fully. But  there  was  an  inviting  smile,  and  her 
diffidence  passed. 

"  That  is  the  vulgarian's  view,"  she  responded, 
"  but  then  you  see  my  case  was  —  er  —  rather 
flagrant,  perhaps.  I  would  rather  not  go  into 
details ;  it  was,  however,  neither  theft,  swindling, 
nor  murder." 

"  Your  trouble  confirms  what  you  and  Mrs. 
Lambert  say  as  to  my  advertising  plan.  I  will 
admit,  though,  it  was  less  a  reason  than  personal 
desire.  It  was  not  serious." 

"  You  remind  me  of  Mrs.  Lever,"  she  said. 
"  She  knew  Monte  Carlo  was  wrong,  but  as  she 
never  played  over  five  francs  she  did  not  consider 
that  gambling.     However,  it  must  stop." 
96 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  What  is  your  first  suggestion  ?  " 

"  Well,  your  worst  defects  are  personal.  I 
want  you  to  be  serious,  to  study,  to  think. 
Cultivate  deportment;  match  your  looks  with 
your  manners ;  be  brilliant ;  if  not  that,  be  clever 
and  pose.  Be  all  things  to  everybody  and  some 
things  they  never  saw  before.  I  don't  care  what 
you  do  to  the  men,  but  for  gracious  sakes  attend 
on  the  women.  That  is  the  primer." 

Beatrice  smiled  drearily. 

"It  sounds  like  an  address  to  a  governess." 

Mrs.  Jewett  lifted  her  cup  until  the  mischief 
in  her  eyes  was  hidden. 

"  It  does,"  she  said,  shortly,  "  but  sometimes  a 
governess  is  a  very  capable  person.  Personally 
I  think  you  are  short  of  all  these  graces.  For 
your  station,  Bab,  you  are  absurdly  untrained.  I 
think  less  of  New  Orleans." 

Beatrice  looked  down  and  bit  her  lip.  Mrs. 
Jewett  smiled  again. 

"  You  are  learning  already,"  she  said,  gaily. 
"  You  have  not  offered  even  a  retort.  It  encour- 
ages me  to  suggest  a  move." 

"  Do  by  all  means,"  said  Beatrice.  "  It  may 
turn  you  from  vivisection." 

"  Then  here  it  is.  You  will  take  this  house  of 
your  aunt's,  and  as  a  prelude  give  a  series  of 

97 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

small  but  extravagant  entertainments.  When  this 
has  brought  about  you  the  parasites  of  society, 
and  possibly  a  genuine  member  or  two,  you  must 
take  them  into  the  country,  get  an  estate,  and 
draw  upon  yourself  the  regard  of  all  New  York." 

"How?" 

"  By  entertainment  acrobatics.  There  must  be 
no  limit.  When  you  return  you  begin  again  in 
the  heart  of  Olympus.  In  time  you  will  merge 
with  the  elect." 

"But  why  this  migration?"  queried  Beatrice. 
"  Why  leave  the  city  ?  Cannot  we  stay  here  and 
operate?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett.  "  In  the 
city  you  have  competition.  There  is  no  certainty 
of  attracting  attention,  while  in  the  country  your 
isolation  buys  publicity." 

"  The  idea  is  to  drive  my  fame  ahead  of  me  so 
that  the  return  engagement  in  the  city  will  bring 
crowded  houses." 

"  Exactly.  The  best  we  can  hope  for  at  Mrs. 
Lambert's  is  to  attach  some  desirable  aides. 
Three  or  four  men  must  be  had,  —  men,  for 
instance,  of  the  type  of  Harry  Layton.  Layton, 
you  know,"  went  on  Mrs.  Jewett,  snappily,  "  will 
take  any  chances  with  his  social  register  if  a 
woman  is  involved.  Then  there  is  young  Sinnott. 
98 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

He  will  follow  a  champagne  bottle  into  the 
primeval  forest.  There  will  be  no  lack  of 
recruits." 

Beatrice  sighed  pensively.  "  I  find  women 
much  harder  to  reach  than  men,"  she  murmured. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  "but  the 
women  eventually  follow  the  men." 

"  We  must  be  original,  Alice,  original  and 
daring." 

"  No  question  of  that ;  we  must  spend  money, 
too." 

"  And  this  publicity  that  is  the  life-blood  of 
the  plan,  —  how  can  we  ensure  that  ?  " 

"  On  the  merits  of  the  performances  alone. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  buying  these  social 
reporters.  I  have  tried  it  myself.  Willie  Gotham, 
though,"  Mrs.  Jewett  added,  thoughtfully,  "  is 
to  be  reached  in  a  very  curious  way.  He  is  the 
last  of  a  broken-down  family,  really  good  blood, 
and  if  we  remind  him  of  that  he  is  pliable.  After 
all,  he  is  the  most  important  of  the  lot." 

"  I  am  not  certain,"  remarked  Beatrice,  "  but 
I  think  Gotham's  real  name  is  Carter,  and  the 
family  came  originally  from  Virginia." 

"  Heaven  grant  so,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jewett, 
fervently,  "  if  you  can't  prove  a  relationship  it 
will  be  downright  incompetence." 

99 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Now  one  more  question,  Alice,  and  you  may 
finish  your  tea.  How  do  you  expect  if,  as  you 
say,  you  are  persona  non  grata,  that  my  rise  will 
ensure  yours  ?  " 

"  That  is  just  where  you  have  me  at  your 
mercy,"  replied  Mrs.  Jewett,  with  a  flash  of  bitter- 
ness. "  It  is  a  question  of  changing  administra- 
tions. All  the  present  leaders  discourage  me,  but 
if  you  seize  the  reins  they  will  feel  they  must  take 
me  along.  Love  me;  love  my  dog." 

Beatrice  wondered  at  the  strong  confidence,  but 
she  said  no  more,  and  they  neglected  the  chat 
for  the  tea.  Both  women  busily  resolved  the 
prospects  of  their  alliance  beneath  the  lens  of 
optimism,  and  to  both  came  more  and  still  more 
rosy  expectations. 

The  younger  woman  felt  that  for  the  first  time 
since  coming  to  New  York  a  tangible  path  had 
been  cut  into  the  jungle  of  her  inexperience. 
She  saw  the  strong  hand  of  knowledge  reaching 
out,  and  she  had  every  disposition  to  grasp  it. 

On  her  side  Mrs.  Jewett  believed  that  she  had 
chanced  on  just  the  agent  for  her  "  restoration," 
and  was  disposed  to  regard  Beatrice  much  in  the 
light  of  a  discovery.  Other  material  had  been 
tried  before,  but  false  starts,  bad  finishes,  or  a 


100 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

breakdown  half-way  had  left  her  still  stranded 
and  still  keen  for  escape. 

Failing  resources  and  sometimes  cowardice 
had  hitherto  wrecked  her  experiments,  but  in 
Beatrice's  case  she  saw  no  threat  of  these  elements 
—  indeed  much  that  was  novel  might  be  hoped 
from  the  unscrupulous  spirit  which  was  a  high 
note  of  the  girl's  character.  She,  too,  was  all 
eagerness  to  go  ahead. 

Therefore  the  two  women  parted  elate  and 
affectionate.  At  the  cab  door  Beatrice  pressed 
Mrs.  Jewett's  hand. 

"  Alice,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  that  we  met." 

"  So  am  I,"  responded  Mrs.  Jewett,  heartily, 
"  and  Bab,  I  believe  we  will  pay  dividends  on  our 
friendship." 


101 


CHAPTER   V. 

"    ~i    1DITH,"  said  Beatrice,  the  next  morning, 

ii  "  I  am  going  to  take  every  advantage  of 
auntie's  offer.  I  wish  therefore  to  know 
your  attitude."  She  had  hurried  into  Edith's 
dressing-room  to  win  cooperation. 

Edith  viewed  her  doubtfully;  she  scented  a 
passage  at  arms. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  say  I  am  going  in  for  entertaining  on  a 
large  scale;  money  is  needed;  work  is  involved. 
I  want  to  know  whether  you  will  assist  me  for 
our  mutual  advancement,  or  whether  you  propose 
to  stand  off." 

Edith  smiled  faintly. 

"  Have  you  had  your  funny  French  dejeuner 
yet  ?  "  she  asked,  nervously. 

"  No." 

"  Then  for  goodness'  sake  send  for  coffee  and 
rolls.  You  are  so  much  pleasanter  afterward." 

Beatrice  laughed  merrily.  "  I  shall  have  a 
102 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

better  appetite  when  I  learn  whether  you  are  to 
be  an  ally  or  an  annoyance.  You  know,  Edith," 
she  went  on,  with  sudden  wistfulness,  "  this  is 
my  first  chance.  I  look  to  you  for  help.  I  shall 
be  bitterly  disappointed  if  you  fail  me." 

"  But  I  shall  not  fail  you,"  answered  Edith, 
touched  by  the  pleading  look  in  her  eyes.  "  I 
am  only  doubtful  of  my  value." 

"  I  am  more  doubtful  of  my  own,"  said 
Beatrice,  gravely.  "  Fancy  me  as  hostess !  Mrs. 
Jew«tt  says  I  lack  dignity." 

"  I  had  not  imagined  her  as  sedate." 

"  She  is  not.  It  is  an  occasional  pose.  Dignity, 
Edith,  is  the  mantle  of  wise  men  and  fools.  What 
Alice  means  is  solemnity." 

"  That  ought  to  come  with  your  office." 

"  It  will.  Responsibility  makes  the  matron  — 
not  age.  Entertainers  must  feel  like  generals  in 
the  field.  Anyhow,  the  average  reception  is  very 
sobering." 

"You  will  not  fail,  Beatrice,"  said  Edith, 
warmly. 

"  I  must  not  fail.  It  would  be  tragic.  When 
I  think  that  a  door  has  opened  at  last  I  am 
frightened,  but  there  is  no  danger  of  panic. 
Meantime,  Edith,  I  am  grateful." 


103 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  And  my  service,  Beatrice,  what  is  it  to  be?  " 
asked  Edith,  curiously. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  something  practical.  Help 
me  to  receive,  make  yourself  useful  at  dinners  and 
dances,  and  generally  show  to  outsiders  that  you 
sympathise." 

"  Certainly,  Beatrice.  I  will  aid  even  if  I 
cannot  be  enthusiastic.  But  will  good  intentions 
replace  experience?" 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  endorsement.  Auntie  is 
certain  to  hide  away.  I  expect  that.  But  if  you 
followed  suit  it  would  advertise  us  as  a  house 
divided.  Outsiders  do  not  care  to  be  caught  in 
domestic  cross-currents." 

"  Insiders,  either,"  murmured  Edith,  reflect- 
ively. "  I  will  do  anything  you  wish,  although 
I  am  afraid  you  are  taking  a  fish  out  of  water." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  about  time  you  got  in  the 
market-place,  Edith,"  said  Beatrice,  gaily.  "  I 
believe  myself  it  wrill  be  hard  for  you  to  show 
your  shoulders.  However,"  she  ended,  as  she 
walked  away,  "  the  public  may  not  look  so  closely 
as  you  imagine." 

The  interview  left  a  genial  impression  on  both 

the  girls,  and  Beatrice,  for  just  the  reasons  she 

had  given,  was  genuinely  glad  that  her  sister  had 

joined  hands.    It  made  her  more  than  ever  eager 

104 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

to  go  ahead,  and  she  was  all  on  fire  to  find  Mrs. 
Jewett  and  compile  a  programme. 

But  to-day,  urgent  as  was  ambition,  she  set 
aside  every  plan  in  favour  of  a  much  anticipated 
private  revenge,  whose  fulfilment  hung  in  the 
next  few  hours.  It  was  a  retaliation  she  had 
pursued  over  many  days.  Labour,  patience,  and 
something  of  money  had  gone  to  its  perfection, 
and  the  harvest  was  now  at  hand.  The  origin  of 
the  trouble  ran  back  to  the  day  when,  ill-advised 
by  -precedent,  she  had  offered  to  Mrs.  Frances 
Thurston  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  and  met 
with  a  reception  that  stuck  blackly  in  her  memory. 
The  snub  had  come,  as  Beatrice  viewed  it,  under 
circumstances  of  peculiar  atrocity.  Early  in  her 
association  with  the  New  York  upper  middle 
class,  Beatrice  had  been  much  interested  in  those 
Nimrods  of  pedigree  who  banded  their  glory 
in  societies  with  colonial  lineage  as  the  warrant. 
Over  the  utility  of  these  bodies  she  was  enthusi- 
astic ;  for  their  claims  she  had  less  reverence  and 
any  amount  of  suspicion.  She  believed  that  most 
of  the  men  and  all  of  the  women  had  gone  search- 
ing originally  for  a  line  of  the  nobility,  and  had 
taken  out  letters  of  credit  on  the  Revolutionary 
period  only  as  prizes  of  consolation.  But  legiti- 
mate or  not,  the  societies  appealed  to  her  as 

105 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

possible  back  doors  to  the  temple,  and  worthy, 
therefore,  of  support.  In  a  sense  they  constituted 
flank  attacks  on  the  plutocracy.  Their  pretension 
was  a  defiance  of  the  loftier  society. 

So  Beatrice  selected  a  few  ancestors,  presented 
them  to  the  Committee  on  Credentials,  and 
entered  one  of  the  best  advertised  of  these  com- 
panies. Even  in  the  novitiate  stage  she  joined  her 
associates,  in  beating  tom-toms  before  the  fetich 
of  their  own  creation,  and  she  looked  on  the  step 
as  a  practical  move  upward. 

Beatrice's  chief  interest  in  the  society  lay  in  its 
exclusiveness.  To  protect  this  and  make  it  more 
absolute  became  a  practice.  Quite  naturally  her 
vigilance  flattered  the  members,  and  gradually 
drew  upon  Beatrice  the  attention  of  the  whole 
organisation.  She  became  after  a  fashion  the 
censor  of  membership,  and  her  veto  was  a  blight- 
ing frost  to  many  a  graduate  of  the  waiting  list. 
Beatrice  knew  her  power  very  well ;  she  imagined 
even  more  than  she  knew.  Therefore  when, 
without  cavil,  investigation,  or  demur,  she  ex- 
tended to  Mrs.  Thurston  the  open  palm  of  wel- 
come, she  felt  that  she  was  making  a  generous  if 
somewhat  diplomatic  concession.  But  she  had 
met  rebuke,  not  casual  nor  incidental,  but  of  a 
deliberate  flatness  that  left  her  not  a  loose  end 
1 06 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

of  comfort.  The  scene  recurred  to  her  a  dozen 
times  a  day. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Thurston,"  she  had  said,  with 
the  most  winning  inflection,  "  I  want  to  make 
you  welcome  to  our  society.  I  want  to  assure  you 
that  your  membership  will  be  for  us  a  new  badge 
of  distinction." 

Clumsy  and  a  bit  servile,  the  speech  still  bid 
for  courtesy,  even  if  gratitude  were  denied.  But 
Mrs.  Thurston  did  not  feel  the  need  of  grace; 
she- was  arrogant,  and  arrogance  is  high  pressure 
stupidity. 

"  O,  yes,"  she  drawled,  her  tone  charged  with 
stinging  affectation,  "  you  are  the  young  person 
who  pokes  into  the  credentials.  Quite  unofficial, 
I  believe,  but  your  vise  will  do  no  harm.  You 
might  look  after  my  papers  if  you  will.  I  am 
going  to  Washington  for  a  week,  and  I  fancy 
I  shall  hardly  have  time  before  the  next  meeting." 

Beatrice  stared  at  the  woman  a  moment  to  see 
if  she  were  serious.  When  she  was  met  by  perfect 
calm,  her  courtesy  and  temper  went  to  pieces 
together,  and  a  hard,  ugly  look  mounted  to  her 
eyes. 

"  I  will  look  after  your  credentials,  yes,"  she 
cried,  "  and  if,  as  I  suspect,  they  carry  you  back 
to  the  blood  of  a  camp-follower,  they  will  receive 

107 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

all  the  attention  you  can  possibly  want,"  and  then 
with  her  head  thrown  back  she  turned  and  stalked 
from  the  room. 

The  outburst  awoke  in  Mrs.  Thurston  some 
surprise,  but  more  indifference.  It  seemed  to  her 
childish  and  vulgar,  but  her  annoyance  was  not 
in  the  least  equal  to  the  affront.  One  of  the  first 
women  of  the  first  society,  she  had  stepped  from 
the  heights  to  note  a  new  growth  of  organised 
caste.  The  condescension  had  won  her  own  ap- 
plause, and  she  expected  it  to  be  general.  That 
Beatrice's  admiration  had  limits  might  irritate 
her  —  it  could  hardly  change  her  opinion. 
Altogether,  the  censor's  cut  went  much  less  deep 
than  she  imagined. 

On  her  side  Beatrice's  mortification  was  a  live 
coal  of  torment.  The  check  to  her  authority,  the 
cool  dismissal  of  her  power,  lanced  her  egotism. 
And  she  had  wanted  this  woman's  approval,  too ; 
here  was  a  dweller  of  the  mount,  and  she  longed 
for  the  helping  hand  it  had  been  possible  for  her 
to  extend.  Still  the  rebuff  was  not  regretted  so 
much  as  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Thurston  had  suffered 
less  in  the  exchange  than  herself.  She  had  been 
just  as  brutal  as  the  hurry  of  the  moment  per- 
mitted—  it  was  still  a  question  whether  even  a 
dent  had  been  made  in  the  armour  of  the  woman's 
1 08 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

pride.  Another  sorrow  lay  in  her  ready  oblation 
at  the  Thurston  shrine  —  if  she  had  held  her 
endorsement  for  a  price,  and  so  on  and  so  on. 

But  Beatrice  had  no  thought  of  wringing 
her  hands.  Mrs.  Thurston  offended  her  as  a 
type.  Directed  against  such  a  character  revenge 
rose  to  the  majesty  of  duty.  She  entered  on  its 
pursuit  therefore  with  system  and  a  cold  deter- 
mination. 

Her  first  moves  brought  with  them  a  stunning 
surprise.  The  society  had  always  endorsed  her 
efforts  to  keep  up  the  bars,  and  from  the  society 
she  expected  support.  But  in  Mrs.  Thurston's 
case  opposition  met  every  count  of  Beatrice's 
charge.  One  after  another  she  told  the  members 
of  her  affront  and  protested  Mrs.  Thurston's 
entrance,  but  only  here  and  there  did  she  find  a 
champion.  Some  opposed  her  flatly;  others 
quietly  hinted  that  Mrs.  Thurston's  infirmities 
hardly  weighed  against  her  importance,  while  on 
all  sides  there  was  a  desire  to  excuse  her  and  take 
her  into  the  fold  anyhow. 

Another  discovery  made  by  Beatrice  at  this 
time  worried  her  more  than  the  defeats.  This  was 
her  loss  of  influence.  Echoes  of  recent  frivolities 
had  found  resting-place  in  several  matronly  minds, 
and  she  paid  the  penalty.  It  was  not  merely 

109 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

unpleasant  —  it  upset  all  her  estimates  of  the 
value  of  this  class  of  advertising,  and  it  justified 
Mrs.  Lambert  as  well. 

"  Still,"  she  reflected,  during  a  reaction,  "  this 
is  the  middle  class,  the  most  tiresomely  virtuous 
creatures  on  earth.  I  do  not  believe  such  intol- 
erance exists  among  people  of  station.  Their  his- 
tory proves  otherwise." 

When  she  found  that  mere  denunciation  would 
not  shut  out  Mrs.  Thurston,  Beatrice  turned  to 
a  weapon  she  had  never  before  employed.  She 
hired  agents  to  look  up  the  applicant's  claim. 
When  these  experts,  after  a  week  of  labour  in 
several  localities,  turned  in  their  reports,  she 
could  have  shrieked  in  ecstasy.  That  for  which 
she  had  merely  hoped  had  been  made  a  certainty. 
They  proved  with  a  wealth  of  interlocking  detail 
that  the  soldier  ancestor  claimed  as  Mrs.  Thurs- 
ton's  warrant  of  membership  was  a  sutler  in  a 
regiment  of  the  Maryland  line;  that,  so  far  from 
fulfilling  his  duties  as  an  ancestor,  he  had  served 
a  term  for  larceny,  and,  capping  all,  had  died  in 
prison. 

"  Why,  it's  like  the  typical  ancestral  joke," 
Beatrice  cried,  delightedly.  "  Are  you  sure  of 
your  facts  ?  " 

"  Entirely  so,"  replied  the  principal  agent. 
no 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  These  items  relate  to  his  army  service.  The 
records  declare  that  after  his  conviction  many 
civil  offences  were  brought  forward  against  him." 

To  be  quite  sure  of  her  ground,  Beatrice  em- 
ployed another  set  of  experts,  who  in  rather 
shorter  time  reported  the  same  facts. 

They  shed  light  on  Mrs.  Thurston's  supposed 
audacity  as  well,  by  showing  that  a  man  of  exactly 
similar  name  had  served  as  a  captain  of  infantry 
in  another  Maryland  regiment  long  before  the 
sutler's  appearance  in  the  army.  This  officer  had 
been  killed.  Through  faulty  investigation  or 
downright  ignorance,  Mrs.  Thurston  had  mixed 
her  men.  Beatrice  would  never  give  her  a  chance 
to  straighten  them  out.  Armed  with  this  one- 
sided evidence,  the  happy  investigator  felt  that, 
despite  her  support,  Mrs.  Thurston's  claim  must 
collapse. 

As  head  on  the  Committee  of  Credentials,  Bea- 
trice allowed  a  majority  report  on  the  enemy's 
case  to  go  through  without  protest;  she  voted 
against  it  as  a  matter  of  record,  and  then  prepared 
a  minority  report,  which  she  designed  should 
ignite  the  blaze  of  scandal.  Of  this  she  said 
nothing;  instead  she  laid  her  mine  against  the 
day  when  at  the  regular  meeting  all  the  members 
might  view  the  explosion. 

in 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

And  this  was  the  day. 

One  minor  regret  only  tugged  at  her  heart, 
as,  burdened  with  the  damning  documents,  she 
drove  off  to  the  club-house;  that  was  the  absence 
of  reporters.  Mrs.  Thurston's  spirit  was  not  to 
be  broken  by  rejection ;  she  would  simply  wonder 
at  the  society's  effrontery,  and  dismiss  the  whole 
matter.  But  a  good,  lively,  descriptive  story  of 
the  unmasking,  and  a  verbatim  copy  of  the  mi- 
nority report,  would  blast  Mrs.  Thurston  beyond 
recovery;  she  would  be  laughed  into  the  wilder- 
ness. 

And  such  a  result  might  yet  be  had.  She  felt 
quite  sure,  for  instance,  that  if  a  reporter  notified 
by  Mrs.  Jewett  called  upon  her  she  should  have 
a  story  warranted  to  convulse  New  York.  She 
determined  to  see  if  it  could  not  be  managed. 
By  the  time  Mrs.  Thurston  found  the  real  ances- 
tor the  mischief  would  be  done. 

At  the  club-house  Beatrice  saw  that  everything 
was  moving  to  a  desirable  climax.  There  was  a 
large  attendance  and  a  general  flutter  of  interest 
over  the  slated  advent  of  Mrs.  Thurston.  Each 
and  every  member  felt,  and  Beatrice  smiled  at 
the  delusion,  that  fellowship  with  a  social  giantess 
meant  a  personal  addition  of  influence.  It  was 
the  appearance  of  a  whale  among  minnows. 

112 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

When  the  credential  reports  were  called,  Bea- 
trice entered  upon  an  uneasy  time.  She  heard 
with  disgust  the  sonorous  report  of  the  majority; 
she  grew  wrathful  over  the  amens  of  her  fellow 
committee-men,  and  the  instant  it  was  over  she 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  touched  off  the  mine.  The 
indictment  was  explicit,  sweeping,  and  savage. 
It  left  nothing  to  speculation,  and  the  climax  was 
a  capstone  of  sensation. 

"  The  facts  I  have  presented,"  ended  Beatrice, 
with'cold  deliberation,  "  call  for  two  things.  One, 
the  rejection  of  the  majority  report,  so  far  as 
concerns  Mrs.  Thurston;  the  other,  an  investiga- 
tion of  the  origin  and  maintenance  of  this  bogus 
claim.  That  such  an  unworthy  application  could 
reach  the  voting  stage,  is,  in  my  opinion,  a 
matter  of  scandal." 

Then  she  halted,  and  as  she  sat  down  the  whole 
meeting  succumbed  to  a  tempest  of  disorder. 
From  end  to  end  of  the  room  swept  a  passionate 
chorus  of  exclamations  and  outcries.  A  dozen 
women  were  on  their  feet  together.  Some  vol- 
leyed opinions  at  the  disturbing  Beatrice,  others 
cried  frantically  for  the  attention  of  the  chair. 
The  most  agitated  of  these,  and  the  first  to  win 
the  floor,  was  the  sponsor  of  Mrs.  Thurston.  Her 
fluttering  hands  and  face  of  flame  drew  on  her 

"3 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  attention  of  the  others,  and  they  gradually 
resumed  their  seats,  conscious  that  a  strong  advo- 
cate had  taken  the  field. 

She  prefaced  her  speech  with  several  dramatic 
gasps. 

"  Never  in  the  history  of  this  society,"  she 
cried,  "  have  its  members  listened  to  such  an 
unwarranted  and  infamous  document  as  the 
report  of  the  minority  committee." 

A  burst  of  hand-clapping  rounded  the  charge. 

"  It  is  a  report  conceived  in  falsehood  and 
malice.  It  is  a  report  whose  origin  is  so  familiar 
to  most  of  us  that  we  can  only  wonder  at  its 
appearance.  We  owe  much  in  the  past  to  Miss 
Cameron's  care  for  our  credentials,  but  she 
should  not  take  advantage  of  our  confidence. 
The  fact  of  a  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Thurston  is  not 
license  for  her  to  use  official  place  for  private 
revenge.  As  to  the  charges,  they  are  ridiculous. 
I  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  deny  them  —  " 

Beatrice  sprung  to  her  feet. 

"  These  are  not  charges,"  she  cried,  "  they  are 
facts;  facts  established  by  experts  who  know 
more  of  colonial  rosters  than  all  of  us  combined. 
I  do  not  want  you  to  deny  them ;  I  demand  that 
you  disprove  them !  " 

"  Is  it  not  strange,"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
114 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

majority  group,  "  that  these  alleged  facts  were 
not  brought  out  in  committee?" 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  were  not 
given  consideration  ?  "  asked  the  president,  se- 
verely. 

"  Never  a  word  of  them,"  declared  the  speaker, 
and  with  her  statement  a  wave  of  hisses  travelled 
the  meeting. 

"  It  proves  what  I  say,"  the  sponsor  cut  in, 
excitedly ;  "  the  report  is  both  irregular  and  un- 
fair: The  only  pity  is  that  Miss  Cameron  should 
have  selected  for  attack  a  woman  who  leads  the 
best  society  in  New  York.  It  is  a  matter  of 
envy.  If  these  charges  had  been  brought  out  in 
committee,  as  they  should  have  been,  the  minority 
report  would  still  have  remained  a  minority  of 
one." 

"  Mrs.  Thurston  has  already  been  offered  a 
regency  by  the  Original  Daughters,"  said  a  voice 
from  the  rear. 

"  Mrs.  Thurston  is  sought  after  by  every 
woman's  organisation  in  New  York,"  exclaimed 
another. 

"  I  expect  she  will  repudiate  us  altogether  after 
such  treatment,"  cried  a  partisan  near  Beatrice; 
and  on  the  heels  of  this  suggestion  came  a  fresh 
disorder  of  tributes  and  praise. 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Beatrice  listened  in  a  fever  of  dismay.  Once 
more  she  felt  the  iron  buffet  of  caste.  She  could 
hardly  trust  her  wrath,  but  she  rose  again  and 
forced  the  issue. 

"  I  would  suggest,"  she  cried,  addressing  the 
president,  "  that  little  but  bad  manners  is  likely 
to  develop  from  further  debate.  I  suppressed 
these  facts  in  committee,  because  I  saw  the 
members  were  committed  to  Mrs.  Thurston. 
They  regarded  her  as  a  sort  of  social  sacred  cow. 
I  trusted  then  to  the  whole  members'  meeting, 
and  I  trust  now.  This  society  may  not  adopt  my 
report,  but  they  cannot  adopt  the  majority  report 
without  dishonour.  I  am  quite  ready  for  the 
vote.'' 

"Yes,  the  vote!  The  vote!"  came  from  all 
over  the  room. 

"  I  think  myself,"  observed  the  president, 
soothingly,  "  that  the  members  can  better  ex- 
press their  feelings  by  ballot  than  by  debate. 
The  teller  will  please  call  the  rolls." 

Beatrice  did  not  wait  to  note  the  details.  Her 
treatment  was  significant.  If  the  tumult  repre- 
sented sentiment,  her  defeat  was  a  visible  cer- 
tainty. So  while  the  roll  ran  along  with  a 
monotonous  crying  of  "  Thurston,"  "  Thurston," 
she  left  the  room  and  called  for  her  wraps. 
116 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

When  she  returned,  the  president  had  just  risen 
to  announce  the  totals.  Clad  in  her  street  gar- 
ments, Beatrice  stood  at  the  rear  of  the  meeting, 
waiting  less  for  the  result  than  for  the  speech  she 
had  determined  should  sequel  the  figures. 

They  were  even  worse  than  she  had  expected. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  announce,"  said  the  president, 
smilingly,  "  that  the  majority  report  has  been 
carried  by  a  vote  of  46  to  8." 

There  was  great  and  prolonged  applause. 

The  president  used  her  gavel  judiciously. 
"  We  will  now,  if  you  please,  proceed  to  other 
business,"  she  added,  as  though  dismissing  a 
trifle.  She  had  noticed  Beatrice's  attitude,  and 
the  look  on  her  face  warned  her  to  hasten  into 
the  safe  waters  of  routine  business.  But  Beatrice 
was  not  to  be  closured.  She  stepped  down  the 
aisle  and  took  up  a  position  fairly  in  the  middle 
of  the  meeting,  where  she  could  be  both  seen  and 
heard.  Her  face  was  very  white  and  still,  but 
her  eyes,  full  of  storm,  roved  over  the  members 
in  a  challenging  stare.  She  remained  motionless 
for  an  instant  to  give  her  pose  a  menace;  then 
disregarding  the  chair,  she  began  and  finished  a 
speech  which  so  long  as  the  society  endured  re- 
mained an  unwritten  but  unforgotten  fragment 
of  archive. 

117 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  When  I  planned  my  expose  of  the  bogus 
Thurston  credentials,"  she  began,  in  a  tone 
thrilling  with  scorn,  "  I  relied  entirely  on  the 
verdict  of  the  whole  society  for  support.  I  have 
explained  to  you  why  I  ignored  the  committee. 
It  was  not  a  tribunal  to  repulse  any  social  Moses 
crossing  its  path.  They  have  thrown  out  scores 
of  applicants  with  better  genealogy  than  Mrs. 
Thurston's,  but  never  one  with  equal  social  claims. 
I  presume  that  if  we  were  to  drag-net  this  society, 
greater  toadies,  more  hypocritical  spirits  than  the 
Credentials  Committee,  could  not  be  found,  and 
I  think,  too,  we  have  some  very  promising 
material.  Time  and  again  I  have  used  them  to 
push  aside  an  applicant  whose  gown  did  not 
meet  my  approval,  or  whose  bonnet  offended  my 
taste." 

"  Shame !    Shame !  "  cried  several  voices. 

"  But  these  were  the  unimportant  ones.  The 
committee  investigations  had  solely  to  do  with 
the  social  labels  on  the  waiting  list.  I  am  free 
to  state  that  if  the  Credentials  Committee  had  to 
pass  on  our  present  membership  there  would  not 
be  a  dozen  to  escape.  So  much  for  the  commit- 
tee. But  I  did  believe,  and  believe  honestly,  that 
when  I  brought  my  discoveries  to  the  whole 
membership  the  report  of  the  majority  would  be 
118 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

thrown  aside.  That  is  where  I  made  my  mistake. 
I  failed  to  remember  a  suggestive  adage,  '  Like 
mother,  like  child.' ' 

"  Mrs.  President,"  exclaimed  the  sponsor, 
bouncing  to  her  feet,  "  do  you  propose  to  let 
Miss  Cameron  indulge  herself  in  insult  at  our 
expense  ?  She  has  not  the  floor ;  I  object !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  the  president,  firmly, 
"  I  propose  to  let  Miss  Cameron  make  just  such 
an  exhibition  as  she  pleases.  The  society  will 
then  be  able  to  get  a  true  perspective." 

"  I  say  I  failed  to  take  into  account,"  resumed 
Beatrice,  easily,  "  that  this  organisation  is 
founded  on  pretension ;  that  it  is  a  refuge  for  the 
shoddy  ambitions  that  would,  but  cannot,  scale  a 
loftier  height.  I  might  have  known  that  when 
a  genuine  aristocrat,  or  rather  a  genuine  pluto- 
crat, put  her  head  into  such  a  storehouse  of  the 
imitation  article  she  would  be  seized  on  willy- 
nilly.  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  American  arrange- 
ments that  we  care  nothing  for  the  origin,  and 
everything  for  the  conclusion.  Let  us  assume 
that  Mrs.  Thurston  had  not  even  this  poor  thief 
of  a  sutler,  or  that  she  had  instead  two  sutlers 
and  two  thieves  —  do  you  think  that  would  have 
made  any  difference?  Not  to  this  society.  This 
society  is  after  ready-made  celebrities,  and  if  it 

119 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

has  to  pay  the  price  of  reversible  by-laws,  —  why, 
purchase  them  anyhow.  Mrs.  Thurston  has  a 
home  on  Fifth  Avenue;  Mrs.  Thurston  has  a 
villa  at  Newport;  Mrs.  Thurston  has  been  pre- 
sented at  court;  therefore,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
clutch  her,  and  hold  on  tight! 

"  I  tell  you  such  a  society  travesties  common 
honour.  I  want  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  resign. 
I  step  out!"  And  then,  while  for  the  second 
time  that  day  a  fetter  of  amazement  bound  the 
assemblage,  Beatrice  turned,  walked  up  the  aisle, 
and  was  gone.  But  even  as  she  reached  the  street 
door  she  heard  behind  her  the  discord  that  told 
of  recovery,  and  the  swelling  sound  gave  her  the 
first  antidote  for  her  wrath  and  pain. 

From  the  club-house  Beatrice  raced  her  car- 
riage straight  to  Mrs.  Jewett's  hotel.  She  found 
her  in  her  sitting-room,  and  shattered  the  calm 
with  the  mere  sight  of  her  face. 

"What  is  it?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jewett  — 
"Thurston?" 

"  Yes  Alice,  —  Thurston !  "  Beatrice  cried, 
bitterly.  '  They  have  beaten  me;  they  have  not 
only  taken  that  woman,  but  they  have  trampled 
me  underfoot  to  furnish  her  a  stepping-stone." 
She  sank  into  a  chair  and  was  out  of  it  in  one 
move. 

1 20 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Oh,  Alice,  Alice !  "  she  said,  pacing  up  and 
down  before  her  friend.  "  What  a  dreadful  lot 
are  these  middle-class  people !  What  hucksters  of 
ambition!  The  sham!  The  servility!  Do  you 
wonder  I  am  ready  to  go  any  lengths  to  escape 
them  ?  I  tell  you  I  witnessed  a  scene  to-day  that 
delivers  me  into  your  hands  completely.  Every- 
thing goes  on  the  scales  to  buy  success.  I  want 
to  be  a  second  Frances  Thurston." 

Mrs.  Jewett  smiled.  "  Very  well,  my  dear," 
she  .said,  "  you  have  my  receipt.  But  it  sounds 
odd  to  hear  you  rave  against  the  prostration  of 
those  others  when  you  went  so  far  as  to  throw 
your  morals  on  the  counter.  There  is  a  problem 
in  proportion." 

"  That  has  not  been  proven." 

"  Save  by  your  own  admission,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Jewett,  carelessly,  "  I  am  only  scouting  your 
character.  I  figure  now  as  guide  and  friend. 
But  the  catastrophe  —  how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

Beatrice  rehearsed  the  meeting  in  gloomy 
detail.  Mrs.  Jewett's  comment  was  hardly  sym- 
pathetic. 

"  Hereafter,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  egotism, 
"  you  had  better  come  to  me  with  your  plans, 
vengeful  and  otherwise.  You  have  missed  an 
opportunity.  Had  I  known  of  this  expert  evi- 

121 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

clence,  I  should  have  told  you  to  first  threaten  Mrs. 
Thurston.    We  need  a  silent  partner  like  her." 

"  Very  possibly,"  answered  Beatrice,  gloomily, 
"  she  might  also  have  denounced  me  before  the 
society.  Let  us  call  it  a  closed  incident.  You 
would  interest  me  more,  looking  forward  rather 
than  behind." 

"  Certainly.  It  is  time  we  began.  Have  you 
seen  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Edith  is  very  good.  She  is  disposed  to  help 
in  every  way." 

Mrs.  Jewett  looked  relieved.  She  rated  Edith's 
value  as  an  ally  highly.  She  had  never  met  this 
younger  sister,  but  her  reputation  painted  her  a 
composition  of  unusual  and,  as  it  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Jewett,  unreasonable  virtues.  This  was  just  the 
element  needed.  Mrs.  Jewett  saw  that  her  repu- 
tation coupled  with  Beatrice's  tendencies  might 
call  for  endorsement.  From  Edith  this  must 
come  —  Edith  must  play  shield  and  foil.  She 
passed  the  idea  on  to  Beatrice. 

"  If  I  were  you  I  should  nourish  Edith,"  she 
said.  "  She  has  a  reputation  antipodal  to  ours, 
and  we  need  her  support." 

Beatrice  looked  at  her  drearily.     "  Will  you 
never  have  done  with  preliminaries?  "  she  sighed. 
"  I  long  for  something  practical." 
122 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Just  one  more  by-path,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
cheerfully,  "  and  then  for  the  highway.  Have 
you  studied  this  project  with  care?  Do  you 
realise  the  demands  it  will  make,  Beatrice?" 

"In  short,  can  I  afford  it?" 

"  Exactly,  can  you  afford  it?  " 

Beatrice  burst  into  a  shout  of  girlish  laughter. 
All  the  ill-humour  of  the  day  fled  before  the 
strained  and  breathless  anxiety  that  had  crept 
into  the  Jewett  countenance.  It  was  too  painful 
to  prolong. 

"  I  can  afford  it,  Alice,"  she  said,  "  if  it  can 
be  had  for  five,  eight,  or  ten  millions." 

Mrs.  Jewett  gasped.  "  Ten  millions,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  and  that  means  a  reserve !  But  is  it 
yours  in  fact,  or  in  legal  fiction  which  gives 
it  to  some  one  else,  —  trustee,  executor,  or 
guardian?  " 

"  O,  I  have  an  executor,  but  I  haled  him 
into  court  once,  and  he  is  tame.  The  money  is 
available.  Edith  has  a  little  more  than  I.  You 
see  our  latest  aunt  to  die  thought  Edith's  way 
of  handling  Sunday-school  scholars  worth  a  few 
millions  by  itself.  The  rest  of  our  money  came 
from  father.  Anything  further,  Alice?" 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  slowly,  "  except  that 
we  have  already  won."  Her  eyes  grew  vacant 

123 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  lustrous  with  visions  reared  on  pedestals  of 
dollars;  she  clapped  her  hands  softly,  as  if 
applauding  a  pageant  of  dreams.  It  was  with  an 
effort  she  became  normal. 

"  Start  at  once,  Beatrice,"  she  said.  "  Such  an 
endowment  ends  the  doubt.  Begin  with  a  tea,  the 
regular  thing,  of  course,  but  striking  in  at  least 
some  one  particular.  We  must  not  be  too  theat- 
rical, but  they  must  remember  that  tea;  they 
must  remember  everything  you  do.  Have  you 
any  suggestions?" 

"  None,"  said  Beatrice,  her  face  in  a  pleased 
glow  at  the  sensation  she  had  caused ;  "  besides, 
I  should  prefer  to  hear  yours." 

"  The  key-note  must  be  lavishness,"  said  Mrs. 
Jewett,  musingly ;  "  an  exhibition  of  the  golden 
calf.  Just  now  a  floral  display  might  do.  That's 
the  idea,"  she  exclaimed,  "  we  will  wall-paper 
your  biggest  drawing-room  with  Jacqueminots. 
They  will  remember  that."  She  looked  at  Bea- 
trice questioningly. 

"  With  Jacks  at  six  dollars  a  dozen  my  memory 
will  be  longest,"  said  Beatrice,  smilingly. 

"  It  will  take  a  gallant  check,"  admitted  Mrs. 
Jewett,  "  but  you  must  get  used  to  that  —  the 
point  is,  do  you  dare?  " 

"  Of  course;   thank  you  for  the  idea." 
124 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Mrs.  Jewett  was  radiant. 

"Good,  good,"  she  cried,  "encore!  Now  for 
the  everlasting-  details." 

They  talked  it  over  for  an  hour,  and  Beatrice 
took  her  leave  happily  assured  that  the  campaign 
was  on. 

When  she  reached  the  pavement,  she  was 
astonished  to  find  Mr.  Holt  standing  beside  the 
open  door  of  a  cab  watching  the  hotel  entrance. 
When  he  caught  sight  of  her  he  ran  up,  hat  in 
hand,  his  face  beaming. 

"You  were  surely  not  waiting  for  me?"  she 
asked. 

"  Indeed  I  was,"  he  responded,  joyfully.  "  I 
saw  you  go  into  the  hotel,  and  delayed  until  your 
return." 

"  But  I  have  been  in  the  hotel  two  hours." 

"  Quite  so.  I  was,  however,  prepared  to  wait 
another  two." 

Beatrice  felt  a  touch  of  disgusted  amazement; 
she  was  not  impressed  at  all  by  this  canine-like 
devotion.  She  wondered  rather  how  a  man  could 
be  such  a  simpleton  as  to  tramp  a  pavement  wait- 
ing two  hours  for  any  woman  on  earth.  It 
argued  a  servility  which  she  was  only  too  ready 
to  add  to  her  estimate  of  Holt's  character.  He 
had  done  this  thing  with  the  intent  of  showing 

125 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

off ;  she  was  sure  of  it.  Nevertheless,  she  turned 
and  waved  her  hand  to  her  coachman,  and  stepped 
into  Philip's  cab.  She  even  essayed  a  feeble 
graciousness. 

"  If  you  keep  many  vigils  of  this  sort,  Philip," 
she  said,  "  you  will  be  finely  equipped  for  a 
cabman." 

But  if  it  was  intended  as  a  sneer  it  was  lost 
on  him  completely.  He  saw  in  prospect,  five,  ten, 
twenty  minutes  with  her  arm  resting  on  his, 
with  the  incense  of  her  hair  lifting  to  his  nostrils, 
and  his  mind  compassed  nothing  else  in  all  the 
universe.  He  stepped  into  the  cab  with  the  face 
of  a  boy. 


126 


CHAPTER    VI. 

T f7  HEN  the  last  leaf-strewn  and  thorn- 

ists  stung  florist  had   left   the   Lambert 

drawing-room,  Beatrice  stepped  in  to 

review  their  performance.    It  was  the  morning  of 

the 'reception  day,  and  since  eleven  o'clock  of  the 

night  before  a  corps  of  decorators  had  stumped, 

thrashed,  and  crawled  about  the  great  apartment. 

But  they  had  left  fairyland  behind  them. 

When  she  opened  the  door,  Beatrice  could 
hardly  reconcile  the  scene  with  the  band  of 
bloused  and  muscled  humanity  just  disappearing 
down  the  street.  It  smote  on  her  senses  with  an 
ensemble  of  pigments  and  a  festival  of  perfume. 
From  the  lofty  ceiling,  from  all  the  generous 
reaches  of  wall,  imprisoned  nature  flashed  a  wide 
and  brilliant  smile. 

The  room  was  one  colossal  bouquet. 

Running  from  floor  to  ceiling  and  smothering 
in  clusters  of  colour  every  bare  outline,  four  walls 
of  wonder  spread  their  fronts.  Roses  blushed 
through  twining  and  alleviating  greens,  roses 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

nodded  in  groups  and  festoons,  roses  red  and 
roses  white  and  yellow  touched  cheeks  in  kaleido- 
scopic company,  and  beneath  their  accumulated 
glory  the  bald  interior  became  a  place  of  dreams. 
It  was  a  theft  from  midsummer. 

Stirred  at  times  by  vagrant  airs,  the  whole 
marvellous  drapery  gave  forth  a  pleasant  melody 
of  falling  leaves  and  faint  rustlings  of  petals 
dropping  from  point  to  point  like  floral  snow- 
flakes,  while  now  and  then  a  single  rose,  heavy 
with  its  wealth  of  sweetness,  tumbled  from  the 
brilliant  cloth  to  robe  the  floor.  Over  all  was 
a  cloying  attar  that  fascinated  the  nostrils  like 
the  breath  from  a  garden  in  June. 

Beatrice  was  not  an  imaginative  person,  but 
her  mouth  rounded  in  a  circle  of  awe  at  the 
spectacle  she  had  reared,  and  there  was  reverence 
in  her  tiptoe  steps  to  the  door.  She  summoned 
Edith  and  Mrs.  Lambert  at  once,  and  they  came 
with  quite  the  curiosity  of  children  to  see  the 
marvel  of  Beatrice's  description. 

It  affected  them  differently.  Mrs.  Lambert 
noted  the  display  with  a  bleak  frown.  Her  lips 
tightened  and  her  eyes  roved  over  the  room  in  an 
evident  try  at  higher  mathematics.  She  was 
counting  the  dollars.  It  annoyed  Beatrice  with 


128 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

that  savagery  of  irritation  that  visits  one  who 
sees  confirmation  o<f  doubts. 

"  My  money,  auntie,  you  know,"  she  said, 
resentfully,  but  Mrs.  Lambert  did  not  reply.  She 
had  turned  the  house  over  to  Beatrice,  and  she 
would  not  handicap  her  plans,  nor  retreat  on  her 
bargain.  Silence  was  allowed  to  represent  her 
disapproval. 

Edith  did  not  hear  the  sally  at  all.  She  stood 
with  clasped  hands  in  a  lapse  of  rapture.  Her 
violet  eyes  fairly  blazed  with  their  joy  of  appre- 
ciation, and  her  nostrils  dilated  to  catch  every 
breath  of  the  scented  air. 

"  O,  Beatrice ! "  she  murmured,  "  what  a 
sight!  Next  to  man,  God's  dearest  creatures 
must  be  the  flowers.  I  can  understand  the  rose 
now  as  a  plaything  of  poets." 

''  Yes,"  answered  Beatrice,  with  suave  satisfac- 
tion, "  though  I  fancy  few  of  them  would  care 
to  rhapsodise  at  this  price.  You  have  the  artistic 
sense,  Edith,"  she  added,  in  an  effort  to  rasp 
Mrs.  Lambert;  "  it  is  a  relief  from  the  material." 

Mrs.  Jewett  had  an  advance  view,  too,  for  she 
ran  over  in  the  afternoon  to  sound  Beatrice's 
nerves,  and  she  had  the  diplomacy  to  do  quite  a 
little  raving.  She  also  complimented  Beatrice, 


129 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

for  she  realised  that  by  this  time  the  protegee 
thought  the  idea  all  her  own. 

"  This  is  a  very  singular  background,"  said 
Mrs.  Jewett,  warningly,  "  and  I  advise  you 
against  any  outre  gowning  effects.  You  had 
better  rely  on  pink." 

"  I  shall.  I  believe  with  you,  Alice,  that  it 
is  better  to  be  peculiar  in  morals  than  dress." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  with  a  little 
hesitation,  "  while  I  am  here,  Beatrice,  I  want  to 
meet  your  aunt  and  Edith.  We  must  establish  a 
footing." 

"  I  will  not  guarantee  Mrs.  Lambert.  Edith 
is  a  trusting  person." 

Mrs.  Jewett  chuckled  as  she  followed  Beatrice 
up-stairs. 

"  You  have  finished  talent  for  putting  out 
your  claws,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  Alice,"  admitted  Beatrice,  "  but  you 
know  your  fur  is  very  thick." 

Edith  received  Mrs.  Jewett  with  all  the  cordial 
grace  which  the  visitor  expected  of  her  reputation. 

They  scattered  early  seeds  of  friendship.  Mrs. 
Jewett  knew  lots  about  city  mission  work,  and 
she  advanced  some  liberal  ideas  that  pleased 
Edith,  and  convinced  her  that  no  person  so 


130 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

equipped  could  justly  bear  her  repute.  She  was 
all  for  excusing  Mrs.  Jewett  at  once. 

From  Edith,  Beatrice  bore  the  visitor  over  to 
meet  her  aunt.  They  had  hardly  exchanged  a 
laboured  sort  of  greeting  when  Beatrice  was 
called  away.  She  was  gone  perhaps  twenty 
minutes,  and  when  she  reached  Mrs.  Lambert's 
room  again  the  doorway  framed  a  tableau  that 
brought  her  to  a  halt  of  bewilderment.  The  two 
women  were  standing  face  to  face  with  every 
evidence  of  affectionate  regard.  More  than  that, 
Mrs.  Lambert's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears,  and 
even  as  Beatrice  stared,  she  saw  her  aunt  bend 
forward  and  press  a  motherly  kiss  on  the  visitor's 
cheek.  Then  she  turned  away,  and  Mrs.  Jewett 
moved  down  the  corridor  looking  disturbed  and 
solemn. 

"  How  did  it  happen?  "  gasped  Beatrice. 

"  Easily  enough,"  responded  Mrs.  Jewett,  as 
they  walked  along.  "  I  told  your  aunt  the  story 
of  my  life.  Naturally  it  was  expurgated,  but 
there  was  still  enough  to  impress  her  unfavour- 
ably. But,  Beatrice,  she  sympathised  with  me. 
Think  of  it!  I  could  have  wept  myself!  She 
is  a  good  woman,  Beatrice,  a  good,  good  woman, 
and  I  tell  you  now  if  our  schemes  put  us  in 
opposition  to  her,  I  for  one  shall  stand  aside." 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  She  is  such  a  horrible  prude,"  said  Beatrice, 
petulantly. 

"  No,  she  is  a  woman  to  whom  experience  has 
granted  a  sane  view  of  things ;  that's  all.  We 
think,  and  she  knows.  I  will  see  you  again  at 
four  o'clock.  Somehow  I  wish  the  reception 
were  another  time.  To-day  I  feel  —  "  and  then 
Mrs.  Jewett's  veil  came  down  with  a  jerk,  and  she 
was  out  of  the  house  without  explanation  or 
adieu. 

Beatrice  laughed. 

Sometime  before  the  hour  for  the  reception 
Beatrice  gave  her  aides  a  critical  survey.  She 
felt  very  correct  herself  in  a  blush  pink  crepe. 
The  body  effect  was  like  the  stem  of  a  flower, 
tapering  to  a  swirl  of  chiffon  ruffles,  and  she 
knew  that  it  was  a  splendid  foil  to  the  flowers. 
Of  Edith  she  had  been  a  little  uncertain,  but 
when  she  appeared  in  a  neutral  reseda  green  she 
breathed  relief.  Mrs.  Jewett  was  discreetly 
robed  a  la  chaperon  in  black  scintillant  with  jet 
paillettes,  and  she  made  a  picture  of  grace  and 
good  form.  Altogether  the  inspection,  which  left 
her  still  the  striking  figure,  pleased  Beatrice  com- 
pletely. 

In  one  particular  at  least  the  reception  was  a 
flaming  success.  That  was  the  attendance.  It 
132 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

took  rank  with  such  events  as  an  opera,  "  first 
night,"  or  the  opening-  of  a  fashionable  bazaar, 
and  it  had  all  of  the  harrowing  features.  Like 
most  beginners,  Beatrice,  fearing  a  famine,  had 
chanced  the  avalanche  —  and  lost.  Invitations 
had  gone  to  every  one  she  knew  and  every  one 
she  thought  she  knew.  The  weather  being  good, 
every  one  came.  It  made  the  first  hour  a  memo- 
rable time  of  distress.  The  capacity  of  the  house 
was  not  merely  strained;  it  was  outraged.  Dig- 
nity and  order  vanished  in  the  first  fifteen  min- 
utes. Through  the  rapidly  expanding  throng 
Beatrice  had  glimpses  of  Mrs.  Jewett  doing  three 
women's  work,  while  Edith  moved  about  a  very 
revelation  of  hospitality.  But  still  the  guests 
poured  in,  and  though  Mrs.  Lambert  had,  as 
she  contracted,  made  a  ten  minutes'  appearance 
and  gone,  Beatrice  felt  sorely  tempted  to  cry  for 
her  help  and  advice. 

From  crowding,  the  situation  went  rapidly  to 
confusion.  A  little  eddy  of  guests  circulated 
about  Beatrice,  and  there  was  some  movement 
on  the  edges  of  the  crowd,  but  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  the  company  was  hopelessly  congested. 
There  was  no  advance  for  the  new  arrivals,  and 
no  retreat  for  the  victims  already  trapped.  It 
was  a  question  how  long  such  a  good-natured 

133 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

blockade  would  remain  good-natured.  The 
attendants  who  tried  to  penetrate  the  mass  were 
swallowed  up  and  fettered,  the  gay  music  of  the 
mandolin  band  was  lost  in  the  gale  of  conversa- 
tion, and  the  whole  affair  trembled  on  the  verge 
of  fiasco. 

To  complete  her  misery,  Beatrice  felt  the  floral 
perfume  tighten  its  clutch  on  the  air  until  breath- 
ing became  an  actual  pain.  She  heard  one  woman 
say :  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  take  me  out.  I  shall 
faint."  She  could  have  wept  in  her  panic 
dismay.  At  the  very  instant  of  despair  came 
relief.  The  company  realised  its  misery,  and 
there  was  a  general  movement  among  the  men  to 
escape.  Holt  headed  a  retreat  to  the  library,  and 
this,  together  with  the  flight  of  a  dozen  or  so 
exhausted  guests,  restored  the  company  to  a 
humane  balance.  Through  all  the  wretched 
moments  just  passed,  Beatrice  had  been  vaguely 
aware  that  the  rose  display  was  a  sensation.  The 
flow  of  adjectives  told  her  this,  and  with  the 
first  chance  for  movement  she  started  in  to 
garner  testimonials.  It  was  Mrs.  Jewett's  idea, 
of  course,  but  that  need  not  be  mentioned.  It 
was  her  money.  So  she  made  a  triumphal  tour  of 
the  room,  and  it  was  so  delightful  that  she  went 
all  over  it  again.  Half-way  around  she  ran  into 

134 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  and  Mrs.  Jewett,  who,  very  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  were  using  tea  as  a  stimulant. 

"  Won't  you  have  some?  "  they  asked. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Beatrice,  "  I  feel  more 
like  first  aid  for  the  injured.  Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  mortifying  crush  ?  " 

"  Not  mortifying  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
cheerfully,  "  the  people  who  have  been  here  will 
think  it  an  extraordinary  function  just  because 
there  was  a  crush."  She  got  up,  nodded  to  Edith, 
and  drew  Beatrice  aside. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,"  she  murmured,  "  where 
did  you  get  them  ?  —  flotsam  and  jetsam  —  there 
isn't  a  genuine  article  in  the  exhibit." 

Beatrice  looked  surprised.  "  They  are  mostly 
friends,"  she  answered,  "  people  I  have  met  here 
and  there." 

"  They  are  snap  acquaintances  of  your  hotels 
and  clubs,"  Mrs.  Jewett  declared,  severely; 
'*  there  is  not  a  person  of  weight  in  the  lot,  — 
artists,  business  men,  and  club-women ;  they  look 
like  middle  class,  and  poor  middle  class  at  that. 
I  have  really  been  sorry  we  had  no  meat  for  them. 
If  we  do  not  get  some  newspaper  advertising  out 
of  this  it  will  be  tragical." 

"  There  are  no  newspaper  men  here.  You 
should  have  looked  after  that,  Alice." 

135 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  did.  Willie  Gotham  and  several  others  were 
on  the  list.  Also  I  expected  at  least  three  men 
who  qualify  as  recruiting  material." 

"  There  are  still  a  few  stragglers.  But  really 
I  think  the  affair  a  success.  I  cannot  share  your 
strictures;  every  one  seems  pleased." 

"  Of  course  they  are.  There  is  a  predatory 
school  of  middle-class  sharks  who  will  dart  at 
any  bait.  You  seem  to  know  them  all.  I  tell  you 
I  really  think  we  should  have  had  meat." 

"  That  is  a  very  stupid  remark,  Alice,"  said 
Beatrice,  heavily. 

"  It  is  a  humane  suggestion.  But  look,  there  is 
young  Trexler,  one  of  my  trio,  coming  in.  He 
is  everything  we  desire.  His  father  is  a  New 
Englander,  and  his  mother  is  from  the  South. 
Take  up  the  Puritan-Cavalier  idea,  and  get  him 
to  come  again." 

Mrs.  Jewett  turned  off  at  an  angle,  while  Bea- 
trice hastened  up  to  the  newcomer  radiating  wel- 
come. In  a  glance  she  saw  he  was  an  unusual 
type.  Of  his  class  there  could  be  no  doubt.  He 
was  a  greyhound  for  fine  lines.  Also  there  could 
be  no  question  of  the  Southern  blood.  It  was 
manifest  in  several  physical  details,  but  less  in 
all  these  combined  than  in  the  magnetic  quality 
of  his  eyes.  They  had  the  blazing  and  fading 
136 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

alternations  peculiar  to  a  mercurial  temperament, 
and,  as  they  lighted  a  face  without  colour,  their 
variety  of  action  was  not  always  pleasant  — 
sometimes  even  startling". 

With  Beatrice  he  found  an  instant  affinity. 
Most  men  imagined  the  same  thing,  but  certainly 
when  Mrs.  Jewett  returned,  convoying  another 
stranger,  she  found  the  two  giving  signs  of  an 
understanding. 

"  So  far  as  the  men  go,"  thought  Mrs.  Jewett, 
admiringly,  "  they  form  no  part  of  the  problem." 

"  Layton,"  she  murmured,  as  they  hung  in  the 
foreground,  "  I  am  going  to  recommend  you  to 
the  greatest  heiress  and  the  most  beautiful  woman 
that  ever  came  out  of  the  South." 

"Is  it  an  opportunity?" 

"  It  is  a  royal  chance.  But  you  must  be  grate- 
ful, Harry.  I  want  her  to  know  the  best  people 
in  New  York  even  if  I  —  I  can't,  and  I  expect 
you  to  do  your  part.  There  are  your  sisters,  you 
know,  and  Mrs.  Atherton.  Mrs.  Atherton  will 
do  just  what  you  say,  so  please  say  it." 

Beatrice  could  read  Layton's  importance  in 
Mrs.  Jewett's  manner,  and  with  pretty  ingenuity 
she  spent  the  next  half-hour  in  playing  between 
the  two.  She  charmed  the  boyish  Trexler  with 
her  assumed  sympathy  of  Southern  blood,  and 

137 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

she  quietly  matched  Layton's  worldliness  with  a 
cynicism  that  leaned  just  a  little  further  from 
convention  than  his  own. 

When  they  parted  both  men  were  enrolled 
recruits,  —  the  first  outposts  of  Beatrice's  line  of 
battle. 

Layton  stepped  up  to  Mrs.  Jewett  to  give 
thanks.  "  A  wonderful  woman,"  he  said.  "  I 
owe  you  a  debt.  You  will  hear  from  me  again." 

"  You  mean  you  will  hear  from  me,  if  you 
please.  Try  to  be  useful  this  time.  Your  sisters 
and  Mrs.  Atherton  at  our  next  tea,  or  nothing." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  and  if  they  come  once  they 
will  come  again." 

The  crowd  was  thinning  out  steadily,  and 
Beatrice  with  Edith  by  her  side  was  giving  adieus, 
when  she  saw  the  ubiquitous  Jewett  nod  to  her 
from  the  far  end  of  the  room.  By  her  side  stood 
a  young  man  whose  aspect  marked  something 
literary.  It  might  be  one  of  the  missing  news- 
paper men,  and  although  very  weary,  she  hurried 
over  to  see.  Her  surmise  was  right. 

"  This,  Miss  Cameron,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
with  pride  strong  in  her  tone,  "  is  the  cleverest 
boy  in  New  York.  You  know  him  already,  — 
everybody  knows  him,  —  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  glad  to  meet  personally  the  man  you  meet 

138 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

every  day  in  the  papers.  This,"  she  wound  up 
with  a  climaxing  swing,  "  this  is  Willie  Gotham." 
Beatrice  favoured  the  tall,  scholarly  young  man 
with  a  girlish  and  only  half-assumed  confusion  of 
pleasure.  Her  hand  flew  out  impulsively. 

"  You  will  let  me  take  your  hand,  Mr. 
Gotham,"  she  said,  sweetly,  "  it  is  like  meeting  a 
lifelong  friend.  I  have  known  you  years  and 
years.  You  and  I  met  in  the  New  York  Age 
in  my  seminary  days,  and  you  have  been  my 
social  guide  ever  since.  I  am  willing  to  confess 
that  I  hoped  when  I  planned  this  little  affair 
that  it  might  bring  us  into  contact." 

Gotham  blushed,  less  perhaps  at  her  words  than 
at  the  clinging  pressure  of  her  fingers.  He 
believed  every  word  she  said.  He  believed  it 
because  he  saw  before  him  no  sign  of  the  wolfish 
social  aspirant,  but  rather  a  beautiful,  diffident 
woman,  whose  ambition,  if  she  had  any,  was  tem- 
pered by  its  charm. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  much  more  I  should 
have  hoped  had  I  known,"  he  stammered. 

"  Your  family,  I  believe,  came  from  the  first 
blood  of  old  Virginia,"  Beatrice  went  on,  defer- 
entially. "  I  often  heard  my  uncle  in  Richmond 
speak  of  Banker  Carter.  He  seemed  to  think 


139 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

there  was  no  other  financier  quite  like  him  in 
the  city." 

Both  women  noted  his  little  start  of  surprise. 
It  was  for  just  such  a  movement  they  had  been 
watching. 

"  Your  uncle  was  very  kind  and  very  right," 
said  Gotham,  rapidly.  "  It  was  father's  honesty 
that  engulfed  him." 

"  The  blow  of  his  failure  killed  your  mother, 
I  believe,"  said  Beatrice,  slowly.  "  She  was  from 
Lynchburg,  was  she  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Gotham  responded,  with  a  far-away 
look  of  half-assuaged  sorrow,  "  she  was  a  Vir- 
ginian, and  like  most  Southerners,  Miss  Cameron, 
she  was  a  beautiful  woman." 

Mrs.  Jewett  felt  the  warming  atmosphere,  and 
moved  away.  From  the  shelter  of  Gotham's  back 
she  dropped  an  applauding  nod. 

Gotham  hardly  noticed  her.  He  was  absorbed 
in  this  unexpected  intimate  of  his  sorrows.  She 
was,  besides,  a  marvel  of  good  looks.  When  Mrs. 
Jewett  beat  back  again  they  were  saying  a  pro- 
tracted and  moving  adieu.  She  saw  by  a  fixed 
brightness  in  his  face  that  his  enrolment  was 
assured.  And  he  was  worth  all  the  rest  put 
together.  Mrs.  Jewett  accompanied  him  to  the 
door. 

140 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  You  will  say  what  you  can,  won't  you,  Mr. 
Gotham  ?  "  she  asked,  pleadingly.  "  This  is  her 
first  entertainment,  you  know,  and  she  is  very 
anxious  to  go  further.  Miss  Cameron  deserves 
the  very  best  society  in  New  York." 

"  She  does,  indeed,"  assented  Gotham,  warmly. 
"  I  imagine  I  owe  my  invitation  to  you,  Mrs. 
Jewett,  do  I  not?"  he  added,  curiously. 

"  Yes,  I  presumed  on  our  rather  trifling 
acquaintance.  I  want  it  to  be  closer  if  you  will 
let  me." 

"  You  are  the  widow  of  the  late  Congressman 
Simon  Jewett,  I  believe?" 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  sadly.  "  I  had 
hoped  you  had  forgotten.  I  —  I  —  want  to  be 
a  friend." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Jewett,"  said  Gotham,  kindly, 
"  I  am  one  of  the  few  men  in  New  York  who 
know  that  your  husband  shot  Mr.  Roscoe,  not 
because  of  your  friendship,  but  to  settle  a  score 
that  antedated  your  marriage.  He  told  me  so 
when  he  was  dying  in  Auburn." 

"  Very  true,  Mr.  Gotham,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
with  a  hopeless  shake  of  the  head,  "  and  it  is 
generous  of  you  to  recall  it,  but  I  am  not  disposed 
to  dispute  my  exile.  My  husband  killed  two  birds 


141 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

with  one  stone.    He  knew  it,  and  I  knew  it.    My 
task  is  to  win  forgetfulness." 

Gotham  smiled  sympathetically. 

"  I  shall  help  you  to  forget,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  by  dropping  the  subject.  Have  you  a  photo- 
graph of  Miss  Cameron?  For  the  paper,  of 
course." 

Mrs.  Jewett  raced  away  and  raced  back 
again.  The  picture  looked  like  business. 

"  Miss  Cameron's  very  latest,"  she  said,  hur- 
riedly, "  for  the  paper  first,  and  yourself  after- 
ward. She  is  immensely  interested  in  your 
family,"  she  added,  ingeniously,  "  and  she  hopes 
you  will  not  confine  your  visits  to  functions. 
How  clannish  you  Southerners  are!  Sometimes 
I  think  you  are  one  big  family,  —  the  First 
Family,  of  course." 

"  Who  could  help  being  clannish  with  such 
a  Southerner  ?  "  he  replied,  mischievously.  "  It 
is  an  instinct." 

Executive  achievement  is,  perhaps,  of  all  suc- 
cess the  most  gratifying.  Mrs.  Jewett  felt  the 
expansive  influence  as  she  walked  back  to  the 
disfigured  and  now  deserted  drawing-room.  The 
master  mind,  the  guiding  hand,  this  was  her 
office,  and  she  figured  her  initial  moves  with 
jubilation. 
142 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  am  not  a  magician,"  she  said  to  Beatrice, 
happily,  "  merely  a  woman  who  thinks.  Other- 
wise Mr.  Gotham  would  not  be  going  away  now 
with  a  cabinet-size  next  his  heart." 

"  Charming,  Alice,  charming.  I  can  almost 
hear  the  fanfare  of  trumpets.  A  moment  since 
I  thought  something  of  patting  my  own  back. 
Between  receiving  and  forcing  the  only  useful 
men  almost  to  their  knees,"  she  added,  pettishly, 
"  I  may  be  pardoned  not  seeing  your  exclusive 
utility." 

"  You  must  admit  Mrs.  Jewett  brought  the 
only  persons  of  consequence,"  said  Edith, 
quickly. 

"  O,  yes,"  Beatrice  answered,  guardedly, 
"  but  there  will  be  no  lack  of  material  in  time. 
I  cannot  fail.  The  men  follow  me,  and  the 
women  must  follow  the  men." 

Mrs.  Jewett  was  good-humoured.  She  was 
happy.  The  day  had  been  a  red-letter  record  of 
kindness.  Mrs.  Lambert  first,  then  Mr.  Gotham, 
both  surprises  and  both  spontaneous.  Therefore, 
instead  of  unhorsing  this  newly  mounted  egotism, 
she  passed  it  by.  Perhaps,  too,  she  saw  some- 
thing of  the  character  she  must  handle.  There 
would  be  many  times  of  provocation.  To  one 
and  all  she  must  present  philosophy  and  patience. 

143 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Otherwise  she  would  be  again  without  an 
agent. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Jewett  drove  around  to 
the  Lambert  house  immediately  after  breakfast. 
She  met  Edith  on  the  stairs  shaken  as  though  by 
a  lively  timidity. 

"  Beatrice  is  in  her  dressing-room,"  she  said, 
in  a  subdued  way,  "  and,  O,  Mrs.  Jewett !  her 
temper  is  something  dreadful.  She  has  seen  the 
papers."  Mrs.  Jewett  laughed  and  continued  on. 

When  she  entered  the  room,  Mrs.  Jewett  hung 
between  laughter  and  amazement.  Beatrice  sat 
flat  on  the  floor,  while  all  about  her  spread  a 
white  field  of  torn  and  disordered  newspapers. 
Every  daily  journal  that  Greater  New  York  could 
furnish  lay  heaped  in  her  lap,  or  strewn  at  her 
feet,  or  scattered  over  the  chairs.  Most  were  in 
English,  but  there  were  several  in  German  and 
French,  and  Mrs.  Jewett  even  noted  one  publica- 
tion in  Italian.  It  was  like  a  reading-room  gone 
mad.  Beatrice  would  clutch  at  a  paper,  plunge 
through  its  columns,  and,  disappointed,  hurl  it 
to  one  side;  then  another  likewise,  and  still 
another,  all  the  while  to  a  hissing  soliloquy,  and 
getting  more  agitated  with  each  inspection. 

She  was  so  intent  on  a  frantic  search  of  the 
Journal  that  she  did  not  hear  Mrs.  Jewett's  en- 
144 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

trance ;  when  she  did  see  her,  standing,  as  she  was, 
in  a  pose  of  goading  surprise,  she  stared  coldly. 

"  A  most  remarkable  manager  you  are,"  she 
began.  "  A  wonderful  thinker,  Mrs.  Jewett ! 
Mr.  Gotham  with  my  portrait  in  his  breast,  — 
but  not  a  line  in  his  paper  —  no,  nor  in  any  other 
paper!  Thousands  of  dollars  spent  on  an  idiotic 
lot  of  roses  that  we  had  to  give  away  to  hospitals ! 
It  did  not  impress  the  papers,  did  it,  that  idea 
of  yours?  I  suppose  the  reporters  credited  it 
to  me,  too,  and  are  laughing  over  it  as  a  piece 
of  beastly  breeding  —  what  is  —  " 

"  You  are  wrong  when  you  say  there  is  nothing 
in  the  papers.  I  saw  the  customary  paragraph  in 
several  myself." 

"  Paragraph !     I  expected  columns !  " 

"  You  do  not  know  the  New  York  papers. 
Your  payment  will  come  from  Mr.  Gotham  just 
as  I  meant  it  should.  What  do  you  suppose  he 
took  your  picture  for?  " 

"  He  thought  I  meant  some  of  the  things  I 
said." 

"  He  did ;  that's  why  he  took  the  picture  — 
to  put  it  in  the  paper.  You  will  probably  find 
what  you  are  looking  for  in  the  Sunday  Age.  I 
wish,  Beatrice,"  she  added,  drearily,  "  that  you 
would  recall  my  primer.  You  must  exercise 

145 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

patience,  and  realise,  too,  that  the  waste  of  yes- 
terday may  be  repeated  a  dozen  times  with  less 
effect.  If  you  are  going  to  count  the  cost,  lock 
up  the  strong  box  and  throw  away  the  key." 

"  I  cannot  afford  newspaper  paragraphs  at 
one  thousand  dollars  a  line,"  responded  Beatrice, 
sullenly.  "  Unless  the  Age  prints  the  matter  you 
promise,  I  shall  hardly  ask  you  to  show  me  how 
to  waste  money  again." 

"  A  few  days  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  in 
genuine  wonder,  "  you  were  full  of  courage. 
Now  it  is  the  shriek  of  a  spoiled  child." 

"It  is  always  easy  to  spend  other  people's 
money,  Alice." 

Mrs.  Jewett  left  the  room  without  attempting 
an  answer.  She  was  not  angry  in  an  active 
sense,  but  rather  succumbed  to  a  tired  bewilder- 
ment. Much  was  to  be  feared  from  the  unruly 
temper  of  her  pupil,  —  she  had  seen  that  from  the 
first,  —  but  such  inconsistency  was  hard  to  meet. 
Beatrice  had  done  nothing  which  she  might  have 
been  expected  to  do,  and  while  several  trials  at 
nourishing  social  vipers  prepared  her  for  stings, 
she  was  hurt  nevertheless. 

Was  it  worth  while  enduring  pangs  made  pos- 
sible only  by  ambition  ?  Should  she  not  profit  by 
warning  ?  The  fixed  tax  on  dignity  —  was  it 
146 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

reasonable  to  pay  ?  Decidedly  not  at  first  thought, 
and  decidedly  yes  at  second.  Yesterday  had  been 
a  day  of  revelations.  Mrs.  Jewett  recalled  with 
a  glow  the  incidents  which  showed  how  tangible 
was  her  dream.  A  little  step  it  had  been,  and 
yet  one  distinctly  forward.  The  march  was  on, 
and  she  had  small  wish  either  to  halt  or  to  drop 
out. 

"  After  I  have  used  this  creature  as  a  stepping- 
stone,"  she  thought,  resignedly,  "  I  will  forget 
how"  rough  it  was  to  my  feet.  The  idea  of  her 
blaming  me  for  not  getting  more  press  notices !  " 

Purely  as  a  reaction  Mrs.  Jewett  sought  out 
Edith,  and  talked  with  her  on  city  mission  work, 
relief  for  fallen  women,  and  other  topics  which 
she  guessed  lay  nearest  the  girl's  heart. 

She  was  not  interested,  but  she  listened  to 
Edith's  flow  of  charitable  thought  as  one  might 
stand  by  a  window  where  cool  breezes  blow.  The 
purity  of  her  ideas  was  refreshment. 

In  the  beginning  Mrs.  Jewett  had  classed 
Edith's  work  with  the  bass  drum  charities  be- 
loved of  advertisers  too  helpless  to  be  original. 
It  was  affectation  of  faddism.  But  a  chance  slur 
on  the  charity  societies  brought  such  a  pained 
look  to  Edith's  face  that  she  saw  her  mistake 
at  once. 

147 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  It  is  not  hypocrisy,  Mrs.  Jewett,"  said  Edith, 
pleadingly,  "  there  are  so  few  contributors  the 
relief  must  be  guarded." 

"  I  do  not  blame  the  contributors,"  said  Mrs. 
Jewett,  hastily,  "  but  the  society  managers  make 
their  aid  such  a  formal  effort  that  one  dreads  to 
invoke  it." 

"  It  is  self-defence." 

"  That  is  the  stock  argument.  They  are  so 
careful  they  draw  interest  on  their  money." 

"  Sometimes  I  do  wish  the  bars  might  come 
down,"  said  Edith,  dreamily.  "  It  is  dreadful 
to  think  of  missing  a  real  sufferer." 

"  They  are  all  sufferers  after  the  societies  get 
hold  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  playfully;  "  you 
are  a  dear,  sweet  girl,"  she  added,  with  sudden 
tenderness,  "  the  only  clean-handed,  the  only 
genuine  woman  I  have  met  in  years,  and  I  want 
you  to  let  me  help  you.  Your  plan  for  aiding 
fallen  women  —  I  like  that  particularly." 

Mrs.  Jewett  did  not  go  to  the  Lambert  house 
again  for  several  days.  Sunday  came,  and 
with  it  the  Age,  but  there  was  no  record  of  the 
Cameron  tea,  so  Mrs.  Jewett  decided  to  wait  for  a 
settled  barometer.  Beatrice  herself  cut  the  knot. 
She  walked  in  upon  Mrs.  Jewett  Tuesday  morn- 


148 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

ing,  and  while  she  was  heavily  formal,  she  was 
nevertheless  welcome. 

"  I  have  decided  to  overlook  your  failure, 
Alice,"  she  announced,  with  calm  gravity,  "  in 
the  hope  that  you  may  do  better  on  the  next 
effort." 

Mrs.  Jewett  tried  to  look  grateful. 

"Of  course  you  realise  that  if  we  are  to  con- 
tinue our  alliance  you  should  show  me  its  profit," 
Beatrice  went  on ;  "  otherwise  it  is  clearly  my 
place  to  make  a  more  profitable  arrangement." 

"  I  am  willing  to  help  all  I  can,  Beatrice,"  said 
Mrs.  Jewett,  holding  the  check-rein  on  a  desire  to 
be  candid,  "  but  I  can't  guarantee  press  notices. 
I  did  not  know  that  I  was  expected  to.  You  have 
no  right  to  despair  at  the  first  trial." 

"  We  will  not  go  over  that  again.  I  feel  that 
I  am  entitled  to  newspaper  attention,  and  that  it 
can  be  had  by  a  clever  woman.  However,  move 
on.  I  want  next  to  give  a  dinner  dance,  and  I  am 
looking  to  you  for  something  original." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  still 
wrestling  with  her  longing,  "  I  would  not  try  it. 
There  is  danger  of  playing  the  showman  too 
hard." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  said  Beatrice,  rising, 
"  we  had  better  be  merely  lavish.  I  expect  this 

149 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

function  to  show  whether  our  recruits  can  hold 
their  commissions,  Alice.  Mr.  Trexler  must 
bring  forward  his  sister  or  retire.  He  is  unen- 
durable." 

"Love?" 

"  Love  or  passion  —  something  violent.  He 
is  too  ardent  for  comfort." 

"  You  must  not  let  them  develop  so  fast.  We 
cannot  afford  to  lose  the  men." 

"  Certainly  not.  It  is  because  they  are  the  best 
social  agents  that  I  am,  let  us  say,  a  bon  camarade. 
Besides,  it  is  so  diverting  to  watch  them  work 
up  to  the  point  where  their  hands  tremble,  that 
I  cannot  avoid  helping  them  along." 

"  What  of  their  hearts?  " 

"  O,"  answered  Beatrice,  laughing,  "  I  am 
not  discussing  anatomy.  We  will  talk  the  dance 
over  later." 

If  during  this  nettling  interview  Mrs.  Jewett's 
pride  had  suffered,  the  next  issue  of  the  Sunday 
Age  brought  revenge.  The  lost  epic  was  found. 
Garnished  by  pictures,  and  emphasised  by  display 
type  head-lines,  one  whole  page  of  the  issue  told 
how  Beatrice  had  startled  the  "  world  of  fashion  " 
with  "  one  of  the  most  Unique,  Costly,  and  Pic- 
turesque Entertainments  in  the  History  of  Social 
Diversion."  It  bristled  with  adjectives;  it  sparkled 
150 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

with  snappy  catch-lines.  "  New  Mistress  of  Mil- 
lions," "  Golden  Beauty  of  the  South,"  "  Fortune 
for  One  Day's  Fragrance,"  "  Four  Walls  Clothed 
in  Roses,  "  —  these  were  a  few  of  the  black  type 
exclamations,  and  boldly  stationed  in  this  field 
of  eulogium  a  rich  half-tone  of  the  wonder- 
working Beatrice  flashed  the  detail  of  her  beauty 
to  support  the  tale. 

Nor  was  the  type  the  most  impressive  record 
of  the  feat.  The  artist,  too,  had  seized  on  the 
cash  register  notes  in  her  exploit,  and  made 
sketches  that  brought  the  outlay  to  a  point  of 
reality.  He  showed  how  forty  thousand  dollars, 
the  crudely  estimated  cost  of  the  flowers,  would 
buy  a  Mont  Blanc  of  bread,  ten  workingmen's 
houses,  several  new  locomotives,  or,  if  desired, 
a  small  lake  of  coffee,  beer,  or  other  life-giving 
beverages  much  affected  by  the  dismal  poor.  He 
put  a  child  on  a  scale  balanced  on  the  other  side  by 
a  chunk  of  silver  labelled  "  $40,000,"  and,  lastly, 
he  upset  a  specie  bag  over  the  top  of  the  picture, 
and  filled  the  atmosphere  with  tumbling  dollars. 
In  another  section  was  an  imaginative  view  of 
the  walls  of  roses. 

Altogether  it  was  a  soul-stirring  advertisement. 
When  Mrs.  Jewett  spread  it  out  before  her,  the 
first  impulse  of  Beatrice  was  to  throw  her  arms 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

around  the  maltreated  Alice.  This  was  what  Mrs. 
Jewett  expected  her  to  do. 

"  But,  no,"  thought  Beatrice,  "  if  I  am  effusive, 
she  may  grow  dictatorial.  She  will  annoy  me." 
Therefore  she  merely  said: 

"That  is  splendid,  Alice,  is  it  not?  I  rather 
think  my  sympathy  was  effective.  But  why  so 
late?" 

"  This  is  the  supplement,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
stonily ;  "  it  takes  two  weeks  to  prepare." 

"  And  he  was  faithful  all  the  time.  I  must 
attach  him  now.  You  say  he  would  not  consider 
money?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  read  the  article  and  you  will  see 
another  magnet.  I  am  beautiful,  you  observe, 
beautiful  as  a  dream,  he  says,  and  listen  to  this : 
'  There  is  a  mystic,  magnetic  quality  about  Miss 
Cameron,  an  elusive  sense  of  physical  attraction 
born  of  multiplied  graces,  that  charms  the  beholder 
on  sight.  Hers  is  the  tropic  beauty  of  the  South 
that  partakes  of  the  East  as  well,  and  that  in 
spirit  is  more  Oriental  than  Occidental.' ' 

"Isn't  that  convulsing?"  murmured  Mrs. 
Jewett. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Beatrice,  sharply.    "  I 


152 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

think  my  power  over  men  is  hardly  to  be  ques- 
tioned. Now  as  to  his  status." 

"  He  is  persona  grata  anywhere.  His  mother 
led  in  the  eighties,  and  he  is  so  discreet  that  he 
is  something  of  a  pet.  You  need  not  be  afraid." 

The  publication  was  followed  by  a  very  pretty 
note  of  thanks,  and  at  a  properly  spaced  interval 
Gotham  made  his  appearance. 

"  Reporters,"  he  said,  suggestively,  "  must  keep 
their  eyes  on  the  magicians." 

"Then  it  is  clearly  to  the  interest  of  the 
magicians  that  reporters  have  the  best  seats,"  she 
answered,  merrily.  "  Otherwise,  they  may  not 
come  again." 

They  grew  cordial  by  easy  stages.  Beatrice 
revived  the  family  records,  and  these  proved  a 
binding  tie.  She  did  it  easily,  too,  and  left  him 
free  of  suspicions.  He  felt  that  he  was  being 
accorded  unusual  favour,  and  his  gratitude  was 
in  proportion. 

"  I  suppose,"  remarked  Beatrice,  as  though 
talking  at  random,  "  you  see  some  diverting  tilts 
at  society,  Mr.  Gotham  ?  " 

f<  Very  many,"  he  answered,  "  and  Don  Quix- 
ote's assault  on  the  windmill  is  not  more  unreason- 
able than  some  of  these  same  attempts.  A  certain 
equipment  is  vital  for  every  aspirant,  yet  it  never 

153 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

seems  to  dismay  the  legion  who  are  lacking. 
They  try  anyhow." 

"  It  would  be  interesting  to  learn  what  that 
equipment  is,"  said  Beatrice,  curiously. 

"  You  have  small  need  to  ask,"  he  replied, 
with  boldness.  "  You  furnish  yourself  a  very 
capable  model  for  the  junior  candidate.  I  can 
hardly  say  more." 

"  Indeed  not,"  she  declared,  warmly,  "  and  I 
have  no  hesitation  in  admitting,  Mr.  Gotham, 
that  you  encourage  a  personal  ambition." 

"  If  that  is  so,  Miss  Cameron,"  he  responded, 
no  less  warmly,  "  you  can  rely  on  my  furthering 
your  hope  in  every  way  possible.  I  see  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  succeed.  If  you  wish  it, 
Miss  Cameron,  you  shall  succeed." 

"  Mr.  Gotham,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  I  wish  it 
above  everything  else  in  the  world." 


154 


CHAPTER    VII. 

T T f  HEN  Edith  read  that  Captain  Maurice 

ism/          Charming,  late  hero  of  the  Santiago 

hillside,  was  due  to  arrive  in   New 

York  on  a  transport  she.  grew  reminiscent.     Her 

mind    ran    back    eagerly    to    a    certain    military 

academy   and   a   certain   cadet,    and    recollection 

proved  a  pleasing  task.     She  thought  of  a  long 

gone  review  day,  of  the  brilliant  parade-ground, 

and  the  manly  young  officer  who  — 

"  Beatrice,"  she  asked,  at  the  boudoir  door,  "  if 
you  are  not  busy,  I  should  like  to  talk  with  you 
awhile." 

"  Come  in,  Edith.  Such  ceremony  is  sus- 
picious. You  must  intend  to  be  unpleasant." 

"  It  depends  on  your  humour." 

"  Well,  do  I  not  look  gracious  ?  Could  a 
woman  be  otherwise  in  a  kimono?  " 

"  Not  if  it  matched  her  complexion.  You  are 
certainly  striking.  A  touch  of  cherry  blossoms 
now,  and  you  would  make  a  very  superior  geisha 
girl." 

155 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  Until  I  sang.  Then  I  should  have  to  appeal 
to  the  Japanese  consul.  Excepting  that,  I  have 
several  things  in  common  with  Piti-San." 

"Beatrice!" 

"  Well,  I  did  not  introduce  the  subject.  Be- 
sides, it's  jolly  to  shock  you,  Edith." 

From  the  cushions  of  her  divan  Beatrice  smiled 
pleasantly.  She  looked  indeed  a  bizarre  figure, 
whose  background  only  was  at  fault.  The  dark, 
magnetic  eyes  in  the  colourless  face,  the  dense 
blue-black  hair,  the  eyebrows  arched  and  sable,  — 
these  features  relieved  by  the  gay  colours  of  the 
robe  made  up  a  picture  odd  and  fascinating. 
Edith  felt  its  charm,  and  she  noted,  too,  the  har- 
mony of  the  sandalwood  odour  which  filled  the 
room. 

"  If  you  had  stayed  in  New  Orleans,  Beatrice," 
she  said,  impulsively,  "  the  next  Mardi  Gras 
would  have  made  you  Queen." 

"  Considering  that  you  never  come  in  contact 
with  men,  Edith,  you  make  some  very  smart 
speeches.  It's  a  pity  I  can't  wear  this  kimono 
abroad." 

"  So  far  as  the  men  go,  I  am  not  at  fault," 
said  Edith,  seating  herself  on  the  couch.  "  I  have 
an  ideal." 

"  Then  you  are  very  unfair.  If  most  of  the 
156 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

specimens  about  us  keep  out  of  court  and  debt 
I  think  they  are  doing  all  that  can  be  expected. 
They  think  so,  too." 

"  I  imagined  as  much.    Still  I  can  wait." 

"  O,  yes.     Having  an  ideal  breeds  patience." 

Edith  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  quite 
abruptly  she  changed  the  subject. 

"  Beatrice,"  she  said,  "  Captain  Charming  is 
coming  to  New  York." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Beatrice,  looking  puzzled,  "  that 
is  interesting.  If  he  is  a  soldier  I  suppose  he  is 
glad  of  it  with  all  these  wars  on  hand.  Who  is 
Captain  Channing?" 

"  I  knew  him  when  he  was  a  cadet,"  replied 
Edith,  "  but  I  have  not  seen  him  in  years.  O, 
Beatrice,"  she  flashed  out,  suddenly,  "  he  is  a 
wonderful  young  man.  I  knew  he  would  be 
great,  and  if  you  could  only  read  what  the  papers 
said  of  his  feat,  you  could  not  help  admiring  him. 
The  whole  nation  should  make  him  welcome  — 
we  should  be  proud  to  entertain  him.  I  —  I  — 
only  hope  we  shall  do  so."  She  wound  up  in  a 
myriad  of  blushes.  Beatrice  turned  considerately 
toward  the  window. 

"  That  is  what  you  came  to  talk  about?  "  she 
asked. 

:'  Yes.    I  wanted  to  see  if  either  you  or  auntie 

157 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

objected  to  bringing  him  here.  I  think  it  is  a 
patriotic  duty." 

"  It  would  be  patriotic,"  assented  Beatrice, 
gravely. 

"  He  has  been  stationed  in  Havana  since  the 
war,  and  he  is  coming  home  on  furlough  with 
Lieutenant  Wilbur  Morgan.  They  were  both  shot 
in  the  last  rush.  Apparently  they  are  great 
friends." 

"  Then  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  separate  them. 
I  would  suggest  you  do  not  try." 

"But  auntie?" 

"  She  will  be  amiable  because  I  wish  it.  The 
house  is  my  plaything.  She  may  ask  you  to 
warn  them  against  wearing  their  swords  in  the 
drawing-room,  but  you  can  tell  her  that  swords 
are  only  used  in  swashbuckling  plays." 

Edith's  face  was  eloquent.  "  You  are  very 
kind,"  she  murmured. 

"  Not  altogether,"  answered  Beatrice,  crisply. 
"  If  this  Captain  Channing  is  a  hero,  he  is  an 
asset.  Entertaining  him,  we  advertise  ourselves." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,"  said  Edith,  re- 
proachfully. 

"  I  know  you  were  not.  It  is  I  who  must  look 
after  the  stage  effects.  Still,  that  need  not  mar 
our  hospitality.  We  are  Southerners,  remember." 
158 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  explained  her  kindly  plan  to  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert, and  received  a  surprise. 

"  I  knew  Captain  Channing's  mother  very 
well,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  be  delighted  to  make 
him  welcome.  But  have  you  spoken  to  Beatrice?  " 

"  Yes.  Why,  auntie?  "  she  added,  with  sudden 
curiosity. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  have  practically  loaned  her 
the  house,"  answered  Mrs.  Lambert,  with  some 
confusion,  "  and  I  do  not  wish  divided  interests. 
She -is  quite  capable  of  offending  an  unwelcome 
guest." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  are  justified  in  self-efface- 
ment, auntie,"  said  Edith. 

"  Perhaps  not,  Edith,  but  my  motive  is  strong. 
Let  me  know  when  they  reach  New  York,  and 
I  will  invite  them  to  dinner.  It  should  be  very 
pleasant." 

Edith  waited  the  warriors'  arrival  with  grow- 
ing timidity.  She  had  arranged  the  visit  in  a 
moment  of  enthusiasm,  which,  paling,  left  her 
conscious  of  responsibility.  Her  flimsy,  school- 
girl contact  with  the  soldier  seemed  insufficient 
ground  for  interest,  and  in  a  cold  moment  of 
fright  she  wondered  whether  even  that  would  be 
remembered.  More  comforting  was  the  thought 


159 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

that  patriotism  urged  her  welcome,  and  to  this 
she  clung. 

When  the  day  came  that  they  were  announced, 
her  fear  of  Auld  Lang  Syne  welled  afresh.  She 
came  down  to  the  reception-room  in  a  small 
tremor  of  anxiety.  The  captain  she  knew  at  once, 
less  by  familiar  features  than  by  what  she  chose 
to  consider  the  perceptible  marks  of  a  hero.  He 
was  the  taller,  he  was  the  broader,  and  in  his  face 
shone  the  quiet  light  of  tried  power  and  capacity. 
The  man  by  his  side  was  a  foil.  He  was  short, 
built  largely,  and  presented  a  countenance  puz- 
zling in  its  quaint  shifts  of  gravity  and  flashing 
good  humour. 

"  It  is  Miss  Edith,"  said  Channing,  gaily.  "  I 
thought  it  must  be  you  when  I  got  Mrs.  Lambert's 
kind  invitation.  The  same  little  review  officer 
of  the  Louisiana  Military  Academy.  Do  you 
remember  how  I  saluted  you  on  parade?  I  won 
disgrace  for  that." 

Edith's  heart  bounded  happily.  She  put  her 
hand  in  his  with  a  quick  friendliness,  and  laughed 
like  the  child  he  remembered. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  it  made  you  a  little 
girl's  hero.  Now  you  are  the  whole  nation's 
hero." 

"  Let  us  hope  none  the  less  your  own,"  he  said, 
160 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

lightly.  "  Speaking  of  heroes,  Miss  Edith,  here 
is  a  genuine  one,  Lieutenant  Wilbur  Morgan.  He 
will  say  that  he  is  not,  of  course.  All  first-class 
heroes  do  that,  but  he  is,  just  the  same.  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  him  soon." 

"  Captain  Channing's  observation  is  based  on 
the  fact  that  I  once  went  five  days  without  food, 
Miss  Cameron,"  said  Morgan ;  "  he  knows  per- 
fectly well  that  I  couldn't  get  any." 

"  Not  the  true  version  at  all,  take  my  word  for 
it," -cried  Channing.  "I  told  you  real  heroes 
were  not  to  be  relied  on." 

"  Well,  he  can't  be  heroic  in  New  York,"  said 
Edith,  laughingly ;  "he  will  have  to  be  prosaic 
and  dyspeptic." 

"  Even  if  I  were  a  hero,  I  should  deny  it," 
observed  Morgan ;  "  it  is  a  dangerous  distinction 
in  this  country." 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  said  Edith,  "  it  is  less  trouble- 
some to  win  laurels  than  to  show  that  you  did 
not  steal  them." 

"  Personally  I  think  the  most  humane  treatment 
for  heroes  is  to  put  them  in  prison  for  a  time," 
declared  Morgan,  gravely.  "  When  they  got  out 
the  people  might  view  them  with  more  charity." 

"  The  trouble  with  the  average  hero  is  that 


161 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

he  believes  it  is  true,"  struck  in  Channing, 
merrily. 

"  And  he  mounts  on  a  pedestal,"  echoed 
Morgan. 

"  And  standing  on  a  pedestal  may  be  very 
wobbly,"  wound  up  Edith,  gaily,  and  the  trio 
laughed. 

The  breezy,  playful  chatter  slew  the  last  rem- 
nant of  Edith's  diffidence.  She  recognised  be- 
tween the  soldiers  and  herself  a  bond  of  spirit, 
and  she  blessed  the  inspiration  which  had  brought 
them  to  her  side.  They  were  genuine  men,  men 
of  breadth  and  experience,  men  beside  whom  the 
formal  creatures  of  the  drawing-room  faded  to 
infant  proportions.  S'he  had  a  quaint  feeling 
of  ownership,  and  she  dreaded  the  thought  of 
giving  them  up  to  "  functions." 

In  a  vague  way  the  presentations  to  Beatrice 
disturbed  her.  With  Morgan  the  ceremony  was 
perfunctory,  but  to  Channing  Beatrice  displayed 
those  artificial  mannerisms  which  Edith  knew 
were  shafts  of  coquetry.  They  struck  home.  It 
was  to  be  seen  in  his  quick  turning  colour  and 
excited  interest.  Edith  noted  this,  and  turned  to 
Morgan  full  of  a  biting  impatience. 

"  I  can  quite  believe  soldiers  are  as  impression- 


162 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

able  as  they  are  painted,"  she  murmured,  and  a 
second  later  was  sorry. 

"  You  must  forgive  us,"  said  Morgan,  with 
deft  use  of  the  plural,  "  we  have  been  so  long 
among  Cubans  that  appreciation  has  grown." 

They  had  a  gay  little  dinner  the  next  evening, 
and  Mrs.  Lambert  made  Edith  happy  by  her 
generous  attitude  toward  the  soldiers. 

"  You  must  not  be  too  formal,"  Mrs.  Lambert 
said.  "  You  are  some  distance  from  home,  and 
we  Wish  you  to  feel  that  we  are  all  Southerners." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Lambert,"  said 
Channing,  graciously.  "  In  Havana  we  felt  like 
exiles.  Rescue  from  ennui  is  little  less  humane 
than  from  starvation." 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  chimed  in  Morgan.  "  I  can- 
not understand  the  rural  sense  in  some  people. 
I  think  anything  less  than  a  metropolis  is  dreary." 

"  You  regard  the  country,  then,  as  a  place  of 
recuperation  ?  "  asked  Beatrice,  mischievously. 

"  My  quarrel  is  with  the  small  city.  It  is 
neither  one  extreme  nor  the  other,  and  has  the 
worst  features  of  both.  I  suppose  the  dwellers 
in  such  places  have  contentment,  but  I  don't  see 
why." 

"  I  imagine  their  vices  are  fewer  than  the 
metropolitans',  anyhow,"  observed  Mrs.  Lambert. 

163 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Not  always.  Often  they  are  more.  The 
opportunities  for  play  are  fewer." 

"  I  sympathise  with  the  lieutenant,"  said  Chan- 
ning.  "  I  remember  how  one  night  in  a  Florida 
camp  I  began  dreaming  of  New  York,  and  I 
thought  I  should  go  mad.  I  saw  the  crowds  pour- 
ing from  the  theatres,  the  rolling  cabs,  the  brilliant 
hotels,  and  all  the  light  and  colour  of  the  night 
life  so  vividly  that  I  felt  like  deserting.  I  can 
imagine  the  Englishman  in  Africa  thinking  so  of 
London." 

"  Well,  I  trust  you  will  not  devote  yourself  to 
the  night  life  only,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert,  doubt- 
fully. 

Channing  flushed  and  smiled.  "  I  mean,"  he 
said,  hurriedly,  "  that  the  night  city  is  more 
typical  than  the  day." 

"  It  is  more  enjoyable,  I  know,"  remarked 
Beatrice.  "  You  are  justified,  anyhow,  Captain. 
Late  hours  are  fashionable  just  now." 

Much  to  Edith's  surprise,  Beatrice  failed 
entirely  to  support  her  fears.  The  initial  coquetry 
which  had  so  annoyed  the  younger  sister  was  a 
flash  in  the  pan.  So  far  from  twanging  the  lyre 
to  the  officers,  Beatrice  seemed  to  regard  them 
with  indifference.  She  even  dodged  the  small 
burden  of  hospitality  which  their  visits  imposed. 
164 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  am  very  busy  with  my  plans,"  she  explained 
to  Edith,  "  and  if  you  relieve  me  I  will  be 
grateful."  So  the  soldiers  passed  almost  entirely 
into  Edith's  hands,  and  she  was  glad.  The  matter 
of  their  outside  entertainment  puzzled  her  greatly, 
and  she  sought  Mrs.  Jewett's  aid. 

"  I  am  very  anxious  to  be  hostess  de  facto," 
she  said,  "  but  I  am  helpless  without  a  chaperon. 
Auntie  is  too  old,  and  Beatrice  is  busy.  I  must 
look  to  you."  Mrs.  Jewett  studied  the  situation. 

"  I  am  sure,  Edith,"  she  said,  finally,  "  you  are 
quite  at  liberty  to  indulge  your  plans.  You  must 
remember  that  we  are  not  as  yet  in  the  circle 
where  every  move  is  scrutinised.  We  have  privi- 
leges now  which  further  on  we  lose.  There  is 
nothing  to  prevent  your  being  hospitable.  I 
will  be  with  you  when  it  is  necessary,  but  there 
is  much  that  you  can  do  by  yourself,  —  riding, 
driving,  the  concerts." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Alice  ? "  asked  Edith, 
eagerly. 

"  O,  yes.  We  are  —  and  never  breathe  this  to 
your  aunt  —  still  high  class  middle  class.  It  is 
quite  different  from  the  other,  although  I  have 
hopes  of  a  change." 

So  with  the  word  of  Mrs.  Jewett  behind  her, 
Edith  inaugurated  a  season,  pleasant  both  for  the 

165 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

officers  and  herself.  They  had  morning  canters 
in  the  park,  which,  with  a  Southern  woman's 
love  of  the  horse,  Edith  thought  the  j  oiliest  of 
outings;  there  were  afternoon  visits  to  the  con- 
certs, and  an  occasional  night  at  the  theatre  or 
opera  with  Mrs.  Jewett  in  evidence,  and  no  more. 
The  trio  became  a  happy  band  of  pleasure-seekers. 
Edith  felt  not  only  the  joy  of  giving  joy,  but  a 
sense  of  comradeship  based  on  the  open,  manly 
nature  of  her  companions. 

Morgan's  delight  over  her  patronage  was  great. 
He  followed  her  leadership  with  a  fidelity  that 
suggested  something  beyond  the  mere  chase  of 
pleasure.  The  idea  never  occurred  to  Edith. 
Morgan's  society  bred  friendliness  without  senti- 
ment. His  spirit  was  juvenile.  She  felt  that 
with  him  she  might  play  skip-rope  or  run  a  foot- 
race, and  the  wholesomeness  of  his  character 
struck  from  her  a  responsive  note. 

Edith's  contact  with  Channing  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent degree.  No  matter  under  what  conditions 
he  appeared,  she  could  not  forget  the  wonder 
of  his  feat.  He  was  always  a  hero  —  always  the 
demigod  of  the  sword  hand.  The  very  gentleness 
of  her  education  assisted  the  view. 

The  story  of  his  adventure  came  easily  from 
Morgan,  but  she  wished  above  all  else  to  hear  it 
166 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

from  Charming' s  own  lips.  She  confided  her 
interest  to  Morgan. 

"  But  I  have  told  you  how  it  all  happened,"  he 
said,  with  a  fleeting  look  of  reproach. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind,"  she  answered, 
shyly.  "  I  only  thought  it  would  be  so  interesting 
to  hear  a  personal  recital." 

Morgan  looked  unconsoled. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  hero- worshipper,"  he 
answered. 

V  Then,  if  so,  you  have  small  cause  to  com- 
plain," she  said,  prettily.  Morgan  blushed  with 
a  radiance  out  of  proportion  to  the  tribute. 

"  Of  course,  I  did  not  object,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  and  I  think,  after  all,  I  am  something  of  a  hero, 
—  to  sing  another  man's  praises." 

It  was  in  detached  chapters,  by  cross-examina- 
tion, and  after  much  delightful  fencing,  that  Edith 
captured  the  tale.  Incidentally  she  brought  to 
light  other  features  of  Channing's  character  which 
confirmed  her  regard.  She  found  in  him  claims 
to  attention  which  lay  outside  his  martial  identity. 
He  was  clever,  he  was  generous,  and  she  believed 
that  under  trial  he  could  not  be  merely  brave, 
but  even  noble.  It  became  a  habit  with  her  to 
learn  his  opinions  and  make  them  her  own;  she 


167 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

passed  from  respect  to  admiration,  and  from  this 
to  exalted  confidence. 

Charming  recognised  the  girlish  note  in  Edith's 
applause,  but  by  degrees  he  fell  under  the  charms 
of  its  music,  and  grew  more  and  more  inclined  to 
abandon  himself  to  its  sway. 

And  Edith  noted  his  growing  attention  with 
eyes  into  which  the  first  glow  of  an  unfamiliar 
sunrise  had  cast  beams  of  promise.  Her  field  of 
vision  narrowed  until  it  compassed  but  one  figure, 
—  the  tall,  masterful  man,  who,  without  intent, 
and  scarcely  with  knowledge,  was  teaching  her 
the  lesson  learned  of  all  women.  She  went  on 
her  way  expectant  and  serene. 

A  week  after  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers,  Bea- 
trice met  Gotham  at  a  fashionable  bazaar,  and 
seized  on  the  chance  for  closer  contact. 

"  You  look  perfectly  miserable,"  she  said, 
kindly,  "  but  that,  of  course,  is  appropriate." 

"  I  have  been  standing  here  pitying  people," 
he  said.  "  A  bazaar  is  one  of  those  clever  ar- 
rangements by  which  the  rich  do  penance  to  the 
poor." 

"  And  you  record  their  sacrifice." 

"  I  do,  but  I  can't  say  anything  about  my  own. 
I  have  just  witnessed  a  typical  case  of  suffering. 
Mr.  Wilson  strayed  from  Madame,  and  foolishly 
168 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

looked  at  those  divan  cushions.  Miss  Pendleton 
saw  him.  You  know  Miss  Pendleton.  She  is 
not  modest,  and  she  wants  the  record  table. 

"  '  That  is  a  beautiful  cushion,  Mr.  Wilson,' 
she  said. 

"  '  It  looks  very  pretty,'  he  answered. 

"  '  It  is  ever  so  soft,'  she  went  on,  pounding  it. 

"  '  Yes,  it  seems  to  be  soft,'  he  replied,  help- 
lessly. 

"  '  It  is  soft;    you  ought  to  have  it  for  that 


reason. 

a  i 


Are  you  sure  it's  soft? '  he  asked,  trying  to 
dodge. 

"  '  O,  beautifully  so  —  here,  just  lean  your 
head  against  it '  —  and  do  you  know  that  man 
was  so  confused  he  actually  did  as  she  told  him. 
He  looked  really  idiotic.  He  bought  the  cushion ; 
I  don't  think  it  matched  his  complexion,  either." 

"  Well,  it  matched  his  spirit.  Aren't  you  rather 
sardonic  to  stand  by  and  gloat  ?  " 

"  Bless  you,  I  have  had  my  experiences ;  only 
I  shall  not  expose  them.  Is  Mrs.  Jewett  with 
you?" 

"  No,  she  is  helping  Edith,  who  is  incidental 
hostess  just  now  to  a  hero  —  two  heroes,  I 
should  say.  Another  form  of  her  charity." 


169 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  imagine  so,  if  she  has  to  hear  their  cre- 
dentials." 

"  It  is  the  other  way.  She  believes  more  than 
they  claim." 

"  My  faith  in  heroes  has  been  shaken  ever  since 
I  heard  the  story  of  Lieutenant  Chappelle  of  the 
volunteers.  He  tells  it  himself.  He  was  with  a 
company  in  reserve  near  the  firing  line,  when  he 
got  a  scalp  wound.  The  shock  dazed  him,  and 
he  ran.  In  his  confusion  he  dashed  through  the 
skirmish  line  and  straight  toward  the  Spaniards. 
They  saw  him  coming,  and,  supposing  he  was 
leading  a  charge,  fled  a  position  they  had  held 
for  hours." 

"  He  was  promoted,  of  course?  " 

"  No,  but  he  wasn't  court-martialed.  Your 
sister's  charges  —  they  are  Captain  Channing 
and  Lieutenant  Morgan,  are  they  not  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Gotham,  halting  in  their 
aimless  stroll  about  the  room,  "  but  you  are  hardly 
getting  the  credit  that  should  come  from  such 
proteges." 

Beatrice    looked    at    him    keenly.      "  I    have 
thought   so  myself,"   she   replied,   slowly,    "  but 
Captain  Channing  has  never  been  lionised.    What 
am  I  to  do?" 
170 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Gotham  delayed  his  reply  some  seconds.  He 
seemed  deeply  absorbed. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  fancy  all  our  best  thoughts 
are  spontaneous,"  he  said,  finally.  "  I  have  just 
proved  it.  Imagine,  if  you  please,  a  hypothetical 
scene.  You  are  seated  in  a  theatre  box  with  the 
soldiers,  your  sister,  and  Mrs.  Jewett.  I  am  in 
the  auditorium.  Scattered  at  different  points  are 
several  of  my  friends.  Suddenly  there  is  a  stir, 
glasses  are  levelled  at  your  box,  a  whisper  runs 
around  the  house,  and  the  interest  spreads 
through  the  whole  parquet.  Captain  Channing 
has  been  discovered.  When  the  play  is  over  and 
just  as  you  are  entering  the  lobby  a  man  rushes 
up  and  seizes  Captain  Channing  by  the  hand. 
Another  does  likewise,  and  still  another,  and  soon 
there  is  a  line  of  men  eager  to  do  him  honour. 
The  next  day  a  story  of  the  impromptu  reception 
appears.  It  is,  of  course,  your  box  party.  The 
celebrated  Captain  Channing  is  the  guest  of  Miss 
Beatrice  Cameron." 

Beatrice  gazed  at  the  plotter  with  parted  lips. 

"  You  are  —  are  wonderful,"  she  half  whis- 
pered, "  but  is  it  not  daring?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  You  know  the  theatre  claques  of 
Paris?  It  is  a  variation.  So  far  as  Captain 


171 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Charming  is  concerned  it  is  justice.  He  might 
otherwise  be  overlooked." 

Beatrice  laughed  excitedly.  "  I  feel  like  the 
spider  and  the  fly,"  she  exclaimed,  "  but  —  you 
shall  know  the  date  to-morrow." 

"  Do  not  trouble  over  ethics.  Look  at  Miss 
Pendleton.  Conspiracy  is  all  about  us." 

Beatrice  went  away  impressed  with  the  plan, 
and  still  more  impressed  by  Gotham's  assurance. 
She  made  her  arrangements  with  care,  and  even 
selected  a  theatre  whose  lobby  was  especially 
adapted  to  the  stratagem. 

When  the  little  company  entered  the  box  on 
the  appointed  night,  Beatrice  deftly  manoeuvred 
Charming  into  a  place  near  the  rail,  and  seating 
herself  near  him  awaited  developments.  They 
were  long  in  coming,  and  expectation  had  faded 
when  the  first  flutter  in  the  seats  below  brought 
revival.  She  saw  one  opera-glass  directed  toward 
them  from  a  certain  row,  then  another,  and  an- 
other, until  nearly  every  occupant  of  the  line  was 
gazing  at  the  soldier  with  rapt  attention.  Then 
several  glasses  rose  in  the  row  ahead,  and  also 
in  the  two  rows  immediately  behind.  The  sudden 
interest  seemed  to  spread  in  every  direction. 
Watching  closely,  she  saw  clusters  of  staring 
lenses  appear  in  still  other  parts  of  the  floor,  and 
172 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

she  settled  back  contentedly  to  await  the  climax. 
Her  only  problem  now  was  to  time  their  exit  into 
the  lobby  at  the  proper  moment.  This  she  man- 
aged neatly,  delaying  over  the  wraps  until  the 
flow  of  people  was  well  under  way. 

A  short  flight  of  steps  led  from  the  box  gallery 
down  to  the  great  marble  passageway,  and  when 
they  reached  this,  she  stood  at  the  top  a  second, 
with  Channing  by  her  side  in  full  view  of  the 
moving  throng.  Then  she  stepped  down  into  the 
lobby.  Almost  on  the  moment  a  large,  red-faced 
man  in  evening  dress  came  hurrying  up,  and 
before  the  soldier  realised  the  action  the  stranger 
seized  his  hand. 

"  Is  this  Captain  Charming,  the  hero  of  Santi- 
ago? "  he  cried,  his  voice  much  above  the  normal, 
and  then  he  raised  the  unresponsive  hand  and 
shook  it  warmly.  Channing  flushed  and  drew 
himself  up  with  rebuking  dignity. 

"  I  am  Captain  Channing,"  he  said,  pointedly, 
"  of  the  Regular  Army." 

'''  Then  pray  accept  my  congratulations,  sir. 
I  think  your  exploit  one  of  the  events  of  the  war. 
We  are  proud  of  you."  He  bowed  profoundly 
and  slipped  away.  His  place  was  taken  instantly 
by  a  younger  man,  who,  as  Beatrice  guessed,  was 
a  second  member  of  the  claque.  He  shook  Chan- 

173 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

ning's  hand  gently,  murmured  words  of  praise, 
and  passed  on.  Before  Channing  could  move,  a 
man  and  woman  stood  before  him,  the  light  of 
tribute  in  their  eyes.  "  You  have  no  idea  what 
pleasure  this  gives  me,"  she  said,  sweetly. 
"  America  should  be  grateful  to  her  soldiers  —  " 
The  man  followed  with  similar  compliments,  only 
pitched  in  a  higher  key. 

By  this  time  the  attention  of  the  whole  lobby 
was  drawn  to  the  group.  Many  of  those  who 
had  stared  through  glasses  saw  now  what  was 
evidently  a  reception  to  the  celebrity,  and  fell 
into  place  eager  for  salute.  Still  others  joined 
until  the  line  extended  back  to  the  auditorium 
doors. 

Channing' s  face  was  flaming,  but  he  met  the 
situation  readily  and  with  grace.  When  he  saw 
that  retreat  was  hopeless  he  fell  into  the  spirit 
of  the  affair,  and  seemed  even  to  enjoy  its  novelty. 

Beatrice  with  her  companions  had  drawn  to- 
gether behind  the  captain,  and  the  open  amaze- 
ment of  Mrs.  Jewett  and  Morgan  made  for  the 
conspirator  a  pleasant  study.  Edith's  expression 
was  different.  She  watched  the  ovation  with  de- 
light, and  the  look  she  bent  on  Channing  had  in  it 
a  touch  of  reverence.  Mrs.  Jewett  noticed  her 


174 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

attention  and  smiled.  Morgan  noticed  it,  too,  but 
he  did  not  smile. 

When  the  last  man  had  gone  Channing  turned 
and  glanced  at  the  others  doubtfully.  "  I  will  not 
be  caddish,"  he  said,  abruptly.  "  I  enjoyed  it, 
and  I  am  proud,  but  please  remember  that  I  tried 
to  escape." 

"  It  is  the  public  which  is  honoured,"  said 
Edith,  brightly ;  "  you  are  legatee  of  your  own 
courage  and  devotion." 

"indeed,  yes,"  added  Beatice.  "One  cannot 
be  a  hero  without  paying  the  penalty." 

They  drove  off  to  Sherry's,  and  had  a  happy 
hour  over  the  oysters  and  salads.  Beatrice  had 
arranged  a  dainty  feast  in  a  setting  of  violets.  It 
was  to  be  celebration  if  she  won,  and  consolation 
if  she  lost.  The  atmosphere  was  therefore  bril- 
liant. Her  spirits  were  elevated  beyond  the  night's 
success,  because  she  saw  in  Gotham  a  bold  and 
capable  agent  of  her  ambition.  Hand  in  hand, 
working  for  the  same  ends,  what  might  they  not 
accomplish  ? 

"  You  shall  have  the  place  of  honour,  Captain," 
she  said,  happily,  "  and  if  you  care  to  hold  another 
reception  we  should  like  to  give  praise." 

"  No  more,  thank  you,"  he  laughed.  "  I  am 
content  with  my  laurels." 

175 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  your  courage," 
observed  Mrs.  Jewett.  "  I  can  guess  which  was 
the  greater  ordeal  —  the  conflict  or  the  congratu- 
lations." 

"  You  can,  indeed,"  answered  Channing, 
heartily ;  "  it  takes  practice  to  receive  homage 
—  with  a  straight  face.  One  solemn  old  gentle- 
man asked  me  why  we  didn't  fight  from  shelter 
instead  of  rushing  on  the  enemy." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Edith,  curiously. 

"  I  told  him  the  best  shelter  we  knew  of  was 
held  by  the  Spaniards.  Their  trenches  were  much 
deeper." 

"  Well,  you  escaped  one  trial,"  said  Mrs. 
Jewett.  "  That  was  making  a  speech.  I  can 
imagine  nothing  more  dismal." 

"  Nor  can  I,"  declared  Beatrice.  "  It  is  so 
much  easier  to  look  things  than  to  say  them." 

The  only  exception  to  the  general  gaiety  was 
Morgan.  He  was  talkative  and  genial,  but  there 
was  in  his  manner  a  subtle  restraint,  which,  escap- 
ing the  others,  could  not  escape  the  keen-eyed 
Jewett.  It  fired  her  resentment. 

"  What  a  pity  it  was,"  she  murmured,  "  that 
you  were  shot  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  instead  of 
the  top." 

"  Not  so,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "  Had  that 
176 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

happened  there  might  have  been  one  hero  too 
many."  He  paused  and  looked  at  her  coldly. 
'  You  force  me  to  explain  that  there  are  worse 
wounds  than  those  of  war."  Mrs.  Jewett  leaned 
back  and  blushed.  "  Forgive  me,"  she  whispered, 
"  I  was  very  ungenerous." 

Toward  the  close  of  the  supper  Beatrice  lifted 
her  glass  and  held  it  toward  the  captain. 

"  A  toast,"  she  said,  playfully,  "  a  toast  to 
courage  in  peace  not  less  than  war."  He  looked 
at  her  with  grateful  eyes.  Into  Edith's  mind 
came  a  chill  memory  of  the  dinner  with  Holt. 
She  leaned  forward  hurriedly,  and  before  Chan- 
ning  could  respond  raised  a  glass  of  sparkling 
apollinaris. 

"  A  toast,"  she  cried,  "  but  not  in  the  abstract 
and  not  in  wine.  To  your  courage,  if  you  please, 
and  in  water." 

"  I  admit  the  amendment,"  said  Beatrice,  smil- 
ing, "  but  not  the  liquid.  It  does  the  subject 
injustice." 

"  The  issue  lies  with  the  captain,"  replied 
Edith. 

Channing  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  ner- 
vously. Mrs.  Jewett  and  Morgan  had  ceased  their 
chat  to  note  the  tableau,  and  the  silence  heightened 
the  captain's  embarrassment.  But  it  was  not  for 

177 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

long.  Half  filling  a  glass  with  wine,  he  poured 
in  an  equal  measure  of  water,  and  raised  the 
draught  to  his  lips. 

"  I  cannot  reply  to  your  toast,"  he  said,  lightly, 
"  but  I  may  propose  one  to  which  this  mixture  is 
appropriate.  Let  it  be  woman,  then  —  to  her 
strength  and  "  —  he  looked  kindly  at  Edith  — 
<;  to  her  purity." 

"  Bravo,"  exclaimed  Mrs,  Jewett.  "  You  ought 
to  be  a  politician,  Captain ;  you  balance  so  nicely." 

Long  before  his  usual  hour  next  morning 
Morgan  was  astir  in  his  hotel  room  packing  up. 
When  the  last  fugitive  garment  had  been  cap- 
tured, locks  closed,  and  straps  tightened,  he 
strolled  down  to  the  cafe  for  breakfast.  He  paid 
more  attention  to  the  Age  than  the  toast.  There 
was  a  very  complete  account  of  the  reception,  and 
he  noticed  that  Miss  Cameron's  name  appeared 
almost  as  often  as  the  captain's.  When  he  had 
read  this  twice,  he  walked  into  the  smoking-room 
and  settled  down  to  wait  for  the  hero.  Some- 
thing under  an  hour  Channing  made  his  appear- 
ance, a  Cairo  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  an 
Age. 

"  This  is  not  egotism,"  he  declared,  waving 
the  paper,  "  merely  curiosity." 

"  You  do  not  have  to  justify  yourself,  Maurice," 
178 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

answered  Morgan,  kindly,  "  and  I  want  to  tell 
you  now  how  happy  that  little  affair  has  made 
me.  For  once  the  fool  public  did  justice." 

Channing  sank  into  a  chair  comfortably.  "  I 
suppose  there  are  limits  to  waiting  orders,"  he 
sighed,  "  but  I  hope  Washington  will  be  gen- 
erous." 

"  Which  reminds  me  of  my  own  departure. 
I  am  going  to  leave  New  York,  Maurice." 

Channing  turned  around  sharply.  "  You  are 
jesting,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,"  said  Morgan,  slowly,  "  I  have  not  seen 
my  brother  in  years,  and  I  think  I  had  better  run 
down  to  Memphis  before  the  call  comes." 

Channing  stared  at  him  reproachfully.  "  Mor- 
gan," he  said,  "  you  are  not  honest  with  me. 
There  is  some  special  cause  —  something  has 
occurred.  Is  there  any  reason  I  may  not  know?  " 

Morgan  hesitated.  "  Your  friendship  is  per- 
haps more  to  me  than  good  form,"  he  stammered. 
"  I  will  admit,  then,  that  I  love  Edith  Cameron 
—  I  think  it  sufficient  reason  for  my  going  away." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  observed  Channing,  quietly, 
"  it  seems  an  excellent  reason  for  staying.  You 
surprise  me  very  much." 

"  I  want  you  to  believe  the  matter  is  neither 


179 


ASOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

pique  nor  chagrin,"  answered  the  lieutenant;  "  it 
has  become  serious  and  beyond  endurance." 

"But  why  leave?" 

Morgan  stirred  uneasily.  "Why  stay?"  he 
retorted,  with  a  flash  of  bitterness.  "  It  seems 
odd,  Maurice,  that  you  of  all  men  should  ask." 

Channing  flushed,  but  when  he  spoke  his  voice 
was  even  and  almost  soft. 

"  That  speech  can  have  but  one  meaning,  Wil- 
bur. You  fancy  I  am  in  the  way.  It  shows  how 
poorly  you  have  read  the  situation.  We  have  no 
right  to  talk  so,  but  as  you  suggest  friendship 
is  above  form,  I  tell  you  I  am  merely  interested. 
I  am  ready  to  leave  you  the  field.  I  will  start 
for  New  Orleans  to-morrow." 

"  No,  Maurice,  no.  You  make  me  feel  unmanly 
and  mean.  Besides,  it  would  not  help  my  case  a 
particle.  I  am  seeking  peace." 

"  You  are  determined,  then?  " 

"Altogether  so." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  necessary  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  without  asking." 

"  You  are  deserting  me,  and  exiling  yourself. 
It  is  very  hard." 

"  So  it  is,  Maurice.  But  I  suffered  enough  in 
Cuba.  I  am  disposed  to  stop  now  before  it  is  too 


1 80 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

late.  You  will,  of  course,  make  a  saving  explana- 
tion." 

That  same  night  Morgan  was  a  passenger  on 
the  Southern  express. 

"  I  venture  to  predict,"  said  Channing,  in 
farewell,  "  that  you  will  be  back  again,  and  I 
hope  you  may." 

In  itself  the  dinner  dance  which  followed  swift 
on  the  heels  of  the  theatre  incident  was  not 
especially  notable.  Beatrice  had  taken  Mrs. 
Jewett's  hint  to  get  a  contrast,  and  the  whole 
affair  was  marked  by  its  absence  of  pretension. 
Still  the  appointments  were  striking,  and  the 
favours,  through  their  value  alone,  left  something 
to  excite  attention.  The  roll  of  recruits  was  pleas- 
ing. Layton  brought  his  two  sisters,  strident, 
conspicuous  creatures,  but  still  of  the  right  rank, 
and  a  Mrs.  Atherton,  who  in  the  relation  of 
cousin  chaperoned  the  girls.  Incidentally  she  was 
thought  to  maintain  a  Platonic  fondness  for 
Layton.  The  suspicion  did  not  affect  her  rating, 
and  Beatrice  felt  that  attention  to  her  was  a  sure 
investment. 

Trexler,  too,  obedient  to  Mrs.  Jewett's  sugges- 
tion, had  engineered  the  acceptance  of  his  only 
sister  and  a  young  man  with  a  reputation  as  a 
cotillion  leader,  so  the  little  band  neatly  leavened 

181 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  middle  class  majority  of  the  company.  The 
presence  of  Captain  Channing  helped  matters,  be- 
cause he  furnished  an  attraction,  and  was  also  very 
patient  in  talking  warfare  to  the  curious.  Edith 
tried  to  save  him  all  she  could,  but  it  was  rather 
hopeless  charity. 

For  Beatrice  the  affair  was  full  of  promise. 
She  saw  an  expanding  horizon,  and  treated  herself 
to  visions,  but  to  Edith,  who,  as  usual,  did  what 
Mrs.  Jewett  called  the  "  open  arms  "  work,  the 
dance  furnished  an  incident  that  quenched  the 
little  gaiety  she  was  trying  to  extract. 

While  passing  behind  a  cluster  of  palms  that 
marked  an  exit  from  the  ballroom,  Edith  came 
upon  the  figure  of  a  man,  evidently  a  guest,  but 
crouched  in  the  shadow  of  the  leaves  with  the 
air  of  an  invading  sneak  thief.  He  kept  his  gaze 
fixed  on  the  dancers,  and  seemed,  by  a  curious, 
swaying  motion  of  the  head,  to  be  following  the 
circuit  of  some  particular  couple.  Once  he  shifted 
his  position,  and  the  swift,  catlike  way  in  which 
he  crept  along  the  edge  of  the  foliage  struck  her 
with  a  chill  of  menace.  She  thought,  too,  she 
saw  something  glisten  in  his  closed  hand.  Even 
as  she  moved  away  to  seek  the  company,  he  turned 
suddenly  and  faced  her.  Her  surprise  was  abso- 
lute. It  was  young  Mr.  Trexler. 
182 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  My  God !  "  she  thought,  "  what  a  face !  "  She 
could  look  at  nothing  else.  Its  pallor,  the  ringed 
and  blazing  eyes,  smote  her  with  a  quick  and 
bewildering  horror. 

"Mr.  Trexler,"  she  cried,  "what  is  it?  what 
are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  struggle  with  his  disorder;  his 
speech  fluttered  in  his  throat. 

"I  —  I  was  watching  Miss  Cameron,"  he  mut- 
tered, uncertainly,  "  and  the  victims  led  to 
slaughter." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  that,"  Edith  ex- 
claimed, with  a  quivering  sternness  in  her  voice. 
"  It  is  unkind.  If  it  is  true,  it  is  unmanly." 

"  I  don't  know  who  has  a  better  right,"  he 
cried,  with  sudden  bitterness,  "  than  the  latest 
victim  of  them  all,"  and  then,  without  apology 
or  explanation,  he  swept  unceremoniously  by  her, 
and  was  gone. 

"  Beatrice,"  said  Edith,  during  the  nightcap 
chat  which  they  held  over  the  dance,  "  what  have 
you  done  to  young  Mr.  Trexler  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  refuse  a  premature  offer  of 
marriage." 

"  Were  you  rude  or  abrupt  about  it?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  was  a  little.  He  hunted  me 
down  until  I  had  to  be  convincing.  I  did  not  want 

183 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

to.  He  was  valuable,  and  I  tried  to  delay  it, 
but  he  grew  intolerable." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  encouraged  him,  Beatrice. 
I  found  him  behind  the  palms  to-night  watching 
you  with  a  face  it  shocks  me  to  remember.  He 
acted  strangely,  but  he  talked  even  more  so.  He 
was  very  bitter." 

"Incredible!" 

"  And  I  think,  Beatrice,  I  am  not  sure,  I  think 
I  saw  a  pistol  in  his  hand." 

Beatrice  smiled  faintly. 

"  Pistols  and  swallow-tails,  Edith  —  it  is 
likely!  But  if  it  was  one,  why,  maybe,  my 
partner,  Mr.  Holt,  had  a  narrow  escape,  and  that 
would  be  a  pity  —  the  escape,  I  mean.  It's  a 
question  which  is  the  greater  affliction  —  Trexler 
or  Holt.  Truly,  I  feel  sometimes  as  though  the 
old-fashioned  duel  was  a  blessing  —  it  smoothed 
out  so  many  tangles." 


184 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

T)EATRICE    was    reading   a   kindly    little 

j*\    notice    of    her    dance    in    the    Age,    and 

smiling  at  Gotham's  use  of  the  important 

names,  when  a  maid  announced  that  Mr.  Layton 

was-  at  the  telephone.     She  hurried  down  to  the 

library  fearfully.     Telephones  always  suggested 

difficulties  at  long  range. 

"  I  would  not  have  troubled  you,"  Layton 
called,  "  only  I  wanted  to  propose  something,  and 
I  was  afraid  the  maid  might  leave  off  the  some- 
thing. Will  you  wait  until  I  get  around  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  have  been  frightened  if  she  had 
left  it  off,"  answered  Beatrice,  merrily;  "I 
believe  in  meeting  misfortunes  boldly." 

"  That  is  a  challenge,"  he  cried.  "  If  you  wait 
an  hour,  I  will  test  your  courage  —  "  and  sure 
enough,  in  less  than  an  hour,  although  she  did  not 
expect  it,  he  was  formally  announced. 

Beatrice  was  full  of  a  fine  broad  humour,  born 
of  the  newspaper  clippings,  and  welcomed  any 
escapade  of  sentiment.  If  Mr.  Layton  had 

185 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

actually  determined  to  catalogue  himself  with  the 
swains,  she  would  treat  him  as  his  reputation  de- 
served. She  knew  just  how  to  do  this,  and  the 
chance  to  do  it  pleased  her.  Layton  was  a  familiar 
type  and  vulnerable. 

When  she  saw  him,  her  suspicions  took  on 
weight.  He  was  bland,  he  was  capable,  and  his 
air  of  worldliness  hung  about  him  like  a  suit  of 
mail.  Nevertheless,  he  was  a  trifle  nervous.  She 
knew  that  from  his  eyes.  The  fact  pleased  her  in 
itself.  Any  woman  who  could  shake  this  master 
of  experience  must  be  unusual. 

"  I  am  getting  a  bit  nervous  over  the  accumu- 
lating candidates,"  he  began.,  boldly.  "  Can't  I 
head  off  a  siege  ?  " 

"  You  mean  you  wish  me  to  hang  out  a  warn- 
ing, *  No  trespassing  on  these  premises  ?  ' 

"  That  is  non-committal.  I  wish  the  placard 
to  read :  '  These  premises  will  be  occupied  after 
June  7.'  " 

"  I  am  prepared  to  argue  the  point." 
"  But  I  don't  want  to  argue.    I  am  in  earnest." 
"  Better  an  empty  house  than  a  poor  tenant." 
"  Every  house  should  have  a  caretaker." 
"  Especially  a  storage  place  for  gold  coin,  eh  ?  " 
"  Yes,  or  even  a  garret  for  bric-a-brac.     You 
have  not  heard  my  credentials  yet." 
1 86 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Beatrice  laughed. 

"  You  are  Harry  Layton,"  she  said,  with  play- 
ful scorn.  "  Where  could  they  come  from?  Mrs. 
Atherton?" 

Layton  flushed  nervously. 

"  Now  you  are  unkind,"  he  said,  "  not  to  me, 
but  to  —  " 

"  The  woman  you  protect." 

"  Nonsense.  I  thought  you  had  outgrown  your 
Hans  Andersen.  Such  fables  are  told  of  every 
man  and  woman  you  know.  When  you  fell 
down-stairs  at  the  Carrols'  dance,  they  snapped  at 
you  in  just  the  selfsame  fashion." 

"  Quite  right,  too,  but  I  have  reformed.  Mrs. 
Atherton  has  not." 

"  I  expected  more  of  your  catholic  spirit. 
Under  the  circumstances  I  will  tell  you  something 
about  Mrs.  Atherton.  When  I  was  very  young 
I  married  a  poor  girl.  She  paid  the  penalty.  We 
were  deserted  and  alone.  I  think  the  cruelty  killed 
her,  but  it  was  Mrs.  Atherton,  who,  during  a  long 
illness,  came  forward  and  nursed  her,  cheered  her, 
and  had  her  blessing  at  the  last.  I  am  a  grateful 
man.  So  much  for  Mrs.  Atherton." 

"  Your  story  is  very  touching,"  said  Beatrice, 
"  but  it  proves  nothing." 

A  spark  of  resentment  lit  in  Layton's  eye. 

187 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Then  we  will  not  consider  her  further,"  he 
said.  "  I  would  like  to  know,  however,  whether, 
if  she  were  not  a  factor,  it  would  make  any 
difference?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest.  I  protest  your  coming  to 
me  with  such 'a  reputation.  I  am  not  interested 
in  how  you  got  it.  I  merely  tell  you  it  is  too 
heavy  a  load  to  carry.  Why  should  you  consider 
me  willing  to  bear  it  ?  " 

Layton  looked  dazed. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  stammered.  "  I 
love  you." 

Beatrice  had  seated  herself  before  the  window, 
but  when  he  said  this  she  rose,  advanced  to  where 
he  was  standing,  and  put  her  hand  caressingly  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  know,  Layton,"  she  said,  half  kindly, 
"  I  never  hear  that  word  without  disgust.  There 
is  no  word  in  the  world  so  misused  or  so  mis- 
understood. For  every  budding  fancy  it  is  made 
to  do  service;  it  is  used  to  dignify  the  meanest 
depths  of  passion.  On  your  lips  it  is  sacrilege.  I 
don't  want  you  to  be  angry.  There  may  have 
been  a  time  in  your  youth  when  it  meant  some- 
thing, but  this  thing  you  offer  me  is  not  love. 
It  is  emotion;  it  is  passion.  Half  the  love  in 


1 88 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  world  is  passion.  You  are  confounding  your 
desires  with  your  spirit." 

"It  is  not  so,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  violence. 
"  I  love  you  just  as  I  loved  long  ago,  only 
stronger,  with  better  understanding.  I  will  be 
anything  you  wish.  I  will  —  " 

"  I  do  not  care  to  experiment,"  she  interrupted, 
with  a  relapse  to  lightness,  "  even  if  I  believed 
the  impossible  things  you  promise.  Still  you  may 
hope,  Layton.  If  I  do  not  marry  you,  I  shall  never 
marry  another  man.  It  is  too  bad  we  could  not 
have  remained  friends.  You  were  very  useful." 

She  paused  a  moment  as  though  in  reflection; 
then  with  a  sudden  movement  she  reached  up  and 
kissed  him. 

"  That  is  what  you  would  get  if  you  were 
married,"  she  said.  "  It  does  not  seem  much, 
after  all,  does  it?" 

He  started  and  his  face  grew  a  dull  crimson. 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  Nothing,"  laughed  Beatrice.  "  I  was  just 
demonstrating  how  trivial  are  these  rewards  of 
love." 

He  was  too  confused  to  answer.  He  could  not 
tell  whether  this  was  burlesque,  or  an  original 
plan  for  easing  his  fall,  and  his  embarrassment 


189 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

was  of  the  disorganising  sort  that  is  based  on 
ridicule.  He  longed  for  escape. 

"  I  am  thankful  for  the  sample,"  he  stammered ; 
"  it  is  a  fine  consolation  prize." 

"  I  wished  merely  to  show  you  how  much  better 
it  would  be  to  remain  single,  be  my  friend,  and 
have  Mrs.  Atherton.  Your  eyes  cried  for  a  caress. 
They  said  you  would  marry  to  get  it.  It  was 
given ;  there  will  be  no  marriage,  and  our  friend- 
ship has  a  chance  to  live." 

"  It  is  hardly  a  substitute,"  he  said,  "  but  pos- 
sibly more  than  I  deserve." 

"But  we  are  friends?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 
"  You  are  not  going  to  stop  trying?  You  know 
I  need  you." 

"  Oh !  I  shall  remain  a  most  devoted  agent. 
You  can  devise  a  proper  reward  when  you  please." 
He  was  making  a  graceful  and  commendable 
retreat,  but  at  the  moment  of  parting  something 
of  the  sorry  figure  he  had  cut  seemed  to  sting 
him  into  an  effort  at  saving  his  dignity. 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  he  said,  with  malice, 
"  that  you  were  right  about  Mrs.  Atherton." 

"  Of  course  I  was  right,"  answered  Beatrice, 
smoothly,  "  but  I  did  not  expect  you  to  confess. 
It  must  make  your  mind  so  much  easier." 

She  watched  him  walk  down  the  street,  and 
190 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  drooping  shoulders  brought  to  her  lips  a 
smile  of  satisfaction. 

"  Six  feet  of  dishonour,"  she  murmured ;  "  a 
servant  of  passion." 

He  had  hardly  disappeared  when  the  maid 
brought  in  Philip  Holt's  card.  When  she  saw 
the  inscription  Beatrice's  satirical  humour  gave 
way  to  annoyance.  She  did  not  seem  able  to 
control  her  repulsion  for  Holt,  nor  to  treat  him 
with  that  charity  which  might,  at  least,  have  pre- 
ceded her  plans  to  betray.  Even  the  necessity 
of  an  external  kindness  only  nagged  her  resent- 
ment. She  did  not  want  to  receive  him  at  all. 
But  she  had  to  be  cautious.  Matters  were  moving 
too  nicely  to  risk  snapping  the  loose  tie  which  she 
knew  bound  Mrs.  Lambert  to  her  interests. 
Therefore,  when  he  came  into  the  room,  she 
answered  his  glad,  hopeful  smile  with  a  promising 
counterfeit.  She  was  even  ready  to  bestow  more 
largess  of  kisses,  if  she  had  not  been  afraid  of  a 
misinterpreted  reception.  He  might  believe  her. 

He  stood  holding  her  hand  for  a  moment,  and 
looking  at  her  with  such  direct,  appealing  affec- 
tion that  she  felt  an  atom  of  shame.  The  deceit 
ruffled  her  ease. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  like  to 


191 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

associate  you  with  the  morning.  It  is  the  time 
of  hope." 

She  evaded  the  hint  skilfully.  "  I  wish  some 
others  thought  so,"  she  laughed.  "  I  am  usually 
associated  with  about  twelve  o'clock,  midnight." 

"  I  can  imagine  these  others  to  be  men,"  he 
suggested,  gallantly,  "  and  disappointed  men." 

"  It  is  always  the  point  of  view." 

"  The  fault  lies  with  yourself,  Beatrice,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  you  who  discontent  men  with  the 
milder  emotion." 

"  And  yet  I  do  not  wish  to,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"  I  see  my  friends  pass  into  the  clutches  of  pas- 
sion, linger  awhile,  and  then  go  away  for  ever. 
Is  there  not  one  man  whose  hand  I  may  take  and 
say,  '  This  is  my  friend,'  without  having  him 
demand  a  closer  relation?" 

Philip  looked  dismal. 

"  Not  mine,  Beatrice,"  he  exclaimed,  feebly 
hiding  his  anxiety.  "  You  see  before  you  one 
of  the  worst  offenders,  and  if  your  little  sermon  is 
designed  to  head  me  off,  it  will  fail." 

"  O,  Philip !  "  she  cried,  in  a  distress  that  was 
three  parts  genuine,  "  not  again.  Please,  not 
again." 

"  Just  as  you  wish,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  If  it 
troubles  you  I  will  try  to  be  generous.  But  this 
192 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

is  a  great  disappointment,  Beatrice.  I  had  hoped 
something  of  your  kindness.  Wherein  have  I 
failed?" 

"  In  nothing,  Philip,"  she  sighed,  with  pity 
softly  simulated.  "  The  lack  is  here,"  and  she 
laid  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "  It  is  neither  your 
fault,  nor  mine." 

"  Not  yours,"  he  burst  out.  "  If  ever  a  woman 
lived  to  move  men  beyond  themselves,  you  are 
that  woman." 

"  A  sad  inspiration,  Philip,  whose  only  blossom 
is  passion." 

"  I  will  not  dispute  your  definition.  My  own 
case  forbids.  But  it  is  a  passion,  Beatrice,  that 
must  know  its  fate.  If  execution  is  to  come  I 
only  ask  that  it  be  final.  Now  I  may  be  able  to 
survive  —  a  little  later  —  I  am  not  so  sure." 

His  voice  shook,  and  his  agitation  was  an  index 
to  repressed  misery.  But  Beatrice  was  too  busy 
revolving  an  answer  to  notice. 

She  knew  instinctively,  as  any  woman  would 
have  known,  that  now  was  the  time  to  cut  the 
knot.  He  had  himself  suggested  that  decision 
was  kindness.  That  first  time  she  had  evaded  an 
issue,  but  now  he  asked  merely  in  mercy  that  she 
evade  no  more.  It  pointed  an  easy  exit  to  an 
unwelcome  situation,  one,  too,  that  might  con- 

193 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

serve  friendship.  But  two  motives  urged  her  to 
deceit.  One  was  dislike  for  Holt  and  a  reluctance 
to  let  him  escape  without  punishment.  His  sus- 
pected role  of  Lambert  agent  had  always  been  an 
infliction,  and  she  had  promised  herself  a  day 
of  reckoning.  The  other  was  Mrs.  Lambert 
herself.  How  would  she  view  a  dismissal  of  her 
missionary?  Would  she  consider  it  released  her 
from  obligations  that  had  for  Beatrice  proved  so 
profitable?  Would  she  let  fly  another  tempest? 
Would  she  cry  halt  to  the  social  march  by  closing 
her  doors  against  the  crowd  ?  She  might  not ;  she 
might  accept  Holt's  fate  as  a  reasonable  finale  to 
a  dismal  performance,  but  if  she  did  not  —  that 
were  disaster.  Knowing  nothing,  but  suspecting 
everything,  Beatrice  believed  her  aunt  was  too 
deeply  concerned  with  Holt  to  take  his  dismissal 
calmly.  She  must  play  him  awhile,  juggle  his 
hopes  until  her  social  parade  was  well  under  way, 
and  not  fall  victim  to  impetuosity.  So  she 
answered  him  falsely,  although  fear  smote  her 
at  the  blazing  revival  in  his  eyes. 

"  Execution  may  never  come,  Philip,"  she  said, 
with  womanly  frankness.  "  I  do  not  want  you 
to  think  this  is  the  end."  She  took  his  hand 
with  just  the  theatrical  spirit  she  had  used 
upon  Layton.  "  I  have  never  felt  this  love, 
194 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Philip,  but  if  any  man  can  teach  me  you  should 
be  the  one.  I  respect  you,  I  admire  you  —  the 
next  step  may  place  me  by  your  side.  I  don't  want 
you  to  go  away,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  despair. 
I  love  no  other,  and  I  can  safely  promise  that  if 
I  do  not  marry  you  I  shall  marry  no  man." 

His  face  was  radiant.  He  passed  with  her 
words  from  dull  restraint  to  a  boyish  delight. 

"  You  have  made  me  happy,"  he  whispered. 
*'  If  I  fail  now,  it  will  be  no  fault  of  loving 
endeavour.  But  remember,  dear,  hope  deferred 
maketh  the  heart  sick."  He  raised  her  hand  to 
his  lips.  "  I  shall  study  to  be  a  capable  teacher." 

When  he  was  gone,  Beatrice  stood  for  a  minute 
in  disturbed  reflection. 

"  I  fancy  I  made  a  mistake  there,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  giving  him  a  commission  to  trail  me 
around  with  Dan  Cupid  on  his  shoulder.  A  nice 
price  to  pay  for  house  rent."  But  she  felt  better 
when  she  reflected  that  Holt  was  still  in  leading- 
strings,  and  that  she  had  passed  a  crisis.  It  made 
her  more  confident  to  know  that  there  was  no 
enemy  in  the  rear. 

A  few  days  after,  Mrs.  Jewett  was  surprised 
by  a  visit  from  Edith.  She  went  into  her  sitting- 
room  expecting  some  conference  on  slum  mission 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

work,  but  the  girl's  doleful  countenance  upset  the 
idea. 

"  What  is  it,"  cried  Mrs.  Jewett,  "  is  any  one 
ill?" 

Edith  smiled  dolefully.  "  No,  indeed,"  she 
said,  trying  to  look  cheerful.  "  I  have  come  over 
to  see  if  you  won't  help  me  with  Beatrice.  I 
asked  her  to  assist  me  in  a  little  tea  to  the  members 
of  the  Helping  Hand  Association,  and  she  was 
so  cross  and  brutal  about  it  that  I  am  in  despair." 

"  What  if  she  doesn't  help?  " 

"  It  is  not  that  —  she  declares  she  will  not 
allow  the  affair  to  occur  —  says  it  will  injure  her 
social  reputation  by  having  a  lot  of  middle-class 
clowns  performing  on  the  same  stage  she  uses." 

"  Did  she  say  clowns  ?  " 

"  Just  that.  I  think  it  is  a  very  cruel  term 
for  the  noble  women  who  are  helping  me.  She 
is  afraid  it  will  be  noticed  by  the  papers.  You 
don't  think  the  papers  would  observe  such  a  little 
affair,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Why  didn't  you  go  to  your 
aunt?" 

"  I  did  not  want  to  involve  her  if  it  could  be 

helped.     She  is  afraid  of  Beatrice,  and  they  have 

done  hardly  anything  but  quarrel  for  months.    I 

would  abandon  the  matter  entirely,  but  you  see 

196 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

I  have  verbally  promised  this  to  several  of  the 
members.  It  will  leave  me  in  a  dreadful  position. 
I  thought  you  might  influence  her,"  she  added. 
"  You  seem  to  be  the  only  person  who  can.  She 
is  very  determined." 

Mrs.  Jewett  disappeared  into  her  dressing- 
room.  When  she  returned  she  was  clothed  for 
the  street. 

"  Come  along,  Edith,"  she  said,  firmly.  "  It 
seems  to  be  my  forte  to  fight  that  woman,  but 
you- shall  have  that  tea,  and  I  will  help  you  receive, 
too.  So  will  Beatrice." 

When  they  reached  the  Lambert  house,  Mrs. 
Jewett  rushed  in  upon  Beatrice  without  cere- 
mony. She  had  been  accustomed  of  late  to 
informal  visits,  and  the  present  was  more  informal 
than  usual.  She  sat  down  and  looked  at  Beatrice 
coldly. 

"  Edith  tells  me,"  she  said,  with  stinging 
deliberation,  "  that  you  oppose  her  reception.  I 
should  think  the  way  she  has  worked  for  you 
would  breed  a  natural  gratitude,  but  in  any  event 
that  reception  will  be  held.  Please  understand  it. 
Also  we  will  both  be  there.  If  you  offer  any 
opposition,  I  will  withdraw  and  take  Trexler, 
Layton,  and  the  rest  with  me." 

She  did  not  wait  to  hear  Beatrice's  reply.  It 

197 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

could  only  be  stormy,  and  as  she  had  quite  deter- 
mined to  do  as  she  promised,  there  was  no  profit 
in  argument. 

Edith  came  over  the  following  day  to  report 
that  Beatrice  had  surrendered  —  not  gracefully 
at  all,  but  still  had  yielded  the  point.  It 
seemed  to  impress  Edith  with  a  reverence  for 
Mrs.  Jewett's  power. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  could  have  said  to 
her,"  she  remarked,  admiringly,  "  but  she  is  very 
quiet  —  and  I  am  sure  I  am  grateful." 

"  I  thought  she  would  be,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
wisely,  "  and  now,  my  dear,  we  must  turn  in  and 
shame  her  with  the  cleverest  little  reception  of 
the  winter." 

And  in  a  way  it  was  all  she  designed.  The 
appointments  were  perfect,  the  arrangements 
exact,  and  in  every  detail  the  managerial  hand  of 
Mrs.  Jewett  loomed  large  and  competent.  Mrs. 
Jewett  herself  was  a  feature.  Her  grace  and 
affability  moved  the  company  to  tribute.  Every- 
where she  went,  kindly  admiration  rippled  in  her 
trail,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  happily  as  she  realised 
that  she  had  reached  the  clean  hearts  of  these 
Christian  workers. 

"  Fancy,   dear,"  she  whispered  to  Edith,   "  I 


198 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

am  making  a  hit.  If  they  only  knew  my  repu- 
tation !  " 

"  Your  reputation  dates  from  to-day,"  an- 
swered Edith,  lovingly,  and  Mrs.  Jewett  pressed 
her  hand. 

But  to  Beatrice  who  was  there  because  she  had 
looked  on  a  different  version  of  the  Jewett  face, 
the  affair  was  a  "  bore  "  and  a  "  weariness  to 
the  flesh."  She  stayed  far  away  from  Mrs.  Jewett, 
and  wandered  here  and  there  with  the  fixed  intent 
of  making  herself  as  politely  unpleasant  as  pos- 
sible. On  the  subject  of  bacteria  she  was  flatly 
odious.  Nearly  every  one  she  met  had  to  explain 
how  they  managed  to  dispose  of  germs  gathered 
in  tenement  houses  without  retaining  any,  and 
to  a  number  she  affirmed  the  belief  that  it  could 
not  be  done.  Edith  caught  an  echo  or  two  of 
these  utterances,  and  she  tried  to  balance  them 
with  a  wider  cheerfulness.  But  Beatrice  tripped 
finally  on  a  snag  of  her  own  making,  and  it  was 
the  ubiquitous  Jewett  who  aided  her  fall.  Beatrice 
had  found  a  pleasant-faced  matron  standing  some- 
what apart  from  the  company,  and  engaged  her 
in  talk  with  the  sole  purpose  of  annoyance. 

"  Why  is  it  that  society  people  neglect  the 
charities  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  it  because  the  work 


199 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

calls  for  qualities  beneath  their  dignity?"  The 
matron  looked  bewildered. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  they  do  neglect  it,"  she 
said,  amazedly.  "  As  for  your  other  question, 
it  is,  if  you  will  permit  me,  just  a  trifle  absurd. 
You  are  Miss  Cameron,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  surely,  Miss  Cameron,  you  must  know 
that  your  sister  is  associated  on  the  Ice  Fund 
with  such  women  as  Mrs.  Van  Lever,  Mrs. 
Cooper,  and  the  leader  of  New  York  society  her- 
self, Mrs.  Wilbur  Fanning,  and  I  assure  you  that 
these  women  give  not  only  of  their  money,  but 
what  is  better,  their  time  and  labour." 

Beatrice  stared  at  her  companion  blankly. 

"  I  did  not  know  that ;  Edith  never  told  me," 
she  exclaimed. 

The  matron  smiled. 

"  Very  possibly,"  she  answered,  "  your  sister 
would  hardly  excite  herself  if  her  co workers 
were  crowned  heads.  She  has  the  reputation." 
And  then  to  underscore  the  repulse,  Mrs.  Jewett 
came  bustling  along  quite  incidentally  as  it  were, 
although  she  had  eavesdropped  the  whole  chat 
not  ten  feet  away. 

"  I  have  been  hunting  for  you  everywhere, 
Beatrice,"  she  exclaimed,  "  but  I  might  have 
200 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

known  I  would  find  you  at  the  fountainhead  of  all 
that  is  good.  You  know  Mrs.  Belmont,  of  course. 
No?  Then  you  shall  at  once.  Mrs.  Irvin  Bel- 
mont is  the  arch-conspirator  in  every  charitable 
plot  in  New  York." 

Beatrice  felt  the  lance  of  coincidence.  The 
name  in  its  peculiar  relation  to  her  slur  upon 
charity  \vorkers  came  as  a  blow.  Mrs.  Belmont 
was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  elect  —  and  she 
looked  like  a  temperance  worker.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  about  it,  nothing  to  be  said.  She 
felt  the  clutch  of  the  trap  she  had  sprung,  and 
she  disentangled  herself  by  the  least  painful  way. 

"  If  Mrs.  Jewett  had  not  come,"  she  said,  look- 
ing the  deceptive  matron  straight  in  the  eye, 
"  just  think  how  much  worse  it  might  have  been," 
—  with  which  enigmatic  sentence  she  turned 
about  and  moved  away. 

But  her  thoughts  ran  less  on  the  fiasco  than 
upon  the  revealed  associations  of  Edith. 

"  The  idea  of  her  not  telling  me,"  she  thought, 
"  although,  of  course,  Edith's  standing  cannot 
be  much  when  only  one  or  two  of  her  giants  came 
to  the  reception.  I  might  have  known  that,  next 
to  the  church,  charity  is  the  most  profitable 
agency  under  the  sun.  It  ought  to  teach  me  a 
lesson." 

2OI 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

The  discovery  with  its  attendant  suggestions  so 
engaged  her  that  she  forgot  her  mission.  She 
wandered  around  the  room  for  some  time  without 
irritating  any  one. 

"  I  cannot  do  Edith's  work,"  her  reflections 
ran,  "  but  I  might  build  a  hospital.  There  are 
certainly  enough  poor  people  to  go  around.  And 
after  all,"  she  ended,  snatching  at  a  phantom  com- 
fort, "  it  is  only  a  question  of  money." 

The  idea  that  Edith  had  distanced  her,  grew 
on  Beatrice  with  a  dragging  weight.  The  longer 
she  carried  it,  the  fiercer  the  pressure.  She  deter- 
mined to  call  Edith  to  account,  and  in  the  light 
of  this  resolve  she  allowed  the  reception  to  end 
without  further  interference. 

The  news  that  young  Arthur  Trexler  had  killed 
himself  descended  on  the  little  circle  at  Lambert's 
like  a  rebuke  of  Fate.  It  shivered  a  period  of 
unusual  calm  just  three  days  after  the  dance  at 
which  he  had  furnished  such  a  melancholy  spec- 
tacle. Beatrice  had  drifted  into  good  nature  over 
the  nebulous  character  of  Edith's  social  strides, 
which  she  had  explained  were  based  on  charity 
work;  Edith  was  happy  because  Beatrice  was 
placated,  and  Mrs.  Jewett  was  genial  because 
she  needed  a  rest.  Mrs.  Lambert  affected  the 
202 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

household  barometer  not  at  all.  Her  effacement 
had  been  complete.  She  fretted  them  neither  by 
appearance  or  interference.  Into  this  pool  of 
domestic  concord  there  plunged  suddenly  the  red 
aerolite  of  tragedy. 

Beatrice  was  sitting  in  conference  with  Mrs. 
Jewett,  conjuring  the  wonders  of  a  vaudeville 
dinner,  when  the  door  of  the  sitting-room 
revolved  slowly  on  its  hinges,  and  Edith,  a  pic- 
ture of  distress,  tottering  rather  than  walking, 
clinging  indeed  to  the  framework  for  support, 
moved  through  the  opening.  In  one  hand  she 
clutched  a  newspaper. 

Mrs.  Jewett  saw  her  first,  and  sprang  to  her 
feet  with  a  little  cry. 

"Edith,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  is  it?  Are 
you  ill  ?  What  has  happened  ?  " 

Edith  made  no  reply.  She  looked  past  her  with 
unfamiliar  eyes  of  pain  and  horror  to  where 
Beatrice  sat.  She  halted,  staring  at  her  sister 
in  a  strange,  inquiring  way,  and  then  moving 
forward  again  she  laid  the  paper  down  in  front 
of  her  and  silently  placed  her  finger  on  the  page. 
Then  she  sank  into  a  chair  and  kept  her  eyes 
with  their  questioning  look  fastened  on  Beatrice. 

Beatrice  measured  her  with  a  speculative 
glance,  and  after  that  paid  no  further  attention 

203 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

until  she  had  finished  the  column.  Mrs.  Jewett 
hung  nervously  over  Beatrice's  shoulder,  trying  to 
read  the  story.  It  was  an  ugly  narrative.  Trex- 
ler  had  been  found  crushed  and  bleeding  in  the 
area-way  of  the  Phoenix  Club.  The  corpse  lay 
beneath  the  window  of  a  room  which  he  often 
occupied  on  the  third  floor,  and  the  fact  that  this 
window  was  open,  that  the  dead  man  was  clad  in 
a  dressing-gown,  and  that  he  had  been  depressed 
and  ill  for  days,  all  pointed  to  suicide.  The  theory 
of  an  accidental  fall  was  upset  by  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  window.  The  lower  sash  cord  had 
been  broken,  and  the  frame  had  jammed.  In  an 
excess  of  despair,  it  was  suggested,  the  dead 
man  must  have  exerted  strength,  and  forced  the 
sash  from  the  bed,  solely  for  the  purpose  of  clear- 
ing a  path  to  death.  That  he  had  wished  to  create 
a  belief  of  accidental  death,  was  shown  by  his 
failure  to  leave  letters,  but  the  clumsy  work  with 
the  window  sash  pointed  the  truth.  When  she  had 
read  the  article  through  precisely,  noted  the  head- 
lines, and  studied  the  half-tone  cut  of  the  suicide, 
Beatrice  handed  the  paper  over  to  Mrs.  Jewett, 
and  turned  on  Edith. 

"  Now  that  we  are  in  possession  of  the  facts," 
she  began,   easily,   "  may   I   ask  why  you  are 
agitated,  Edith?" 
204 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  looked  up  dully. 

"  He  was  dying  when  I  saw  him,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  I  assume  you  mean  he  was  depressed.  It 
was  not  your  fault,  was  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Edith,  sternly,  "  but  yours, 
Beatrice,  yours.  You  encouraged  him;  you 
made  him  believe  —  and  —  and  —  the  lie  killed 
him." 

Mrs.  Jewett  did  not  lift  her  eyes  from  the 
paper.  Beatrice  smiled  with  a  feint  of  weariness. 

"  I  saw  the  truth  in  his  face  that  night,"  Edith 
went  on.  "  He  was  half-crazy  then,  and  I  warned 
you,  Beatrice,  you  know  I  told  you,  and  you 
made  no  effort  to  drag  him  back.  It  was  such  a 
little  thing  to  do,  and  you  owed  him  something, 
Beatrice.  His  bitterness  was  not  assumption. 
You  had  promised  him  something,  and  you  had 
failed  of  your  promise."  Her  voice  had  trailed 
away  and  was  devoid  of  spirit.  She  seemed  to 
know  when  she  spoke  that,  however  true  her 
charge,  it  fell  upon  heedless  ears.  Beatrice  fol- 
lowed her  stoically.  Her  reply  was  evasive. 

"  You  can  never  prove  what  you  say,  Edith," 
she  declared,  "  and  even  if  you  could  I  am  free 
of  blame.  These  men  are  sentimental  gamblers. 
If  they  lose,  it  is  not  my  fault." 

205 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  answered  nothing,  but  into  her  soul  that 
spirit  of  dread  which  once  before  Beatrice  had 
invoked  came  to  take  up  a  dwelling-place.  There 
was  silence  for  a  time,  and  then  Mrs.  Jewett  laid 
down  the  paper  and  glanced  over  at  Beatrice. 

"  There  is  but  one  clue,  Beatrice/'  she  said, 
musingly,  and  yet  with  a  certain  covert  slyness; 
"  that  is  a  letter  which  Trexler  mailed  an  hour 
before  his  death." 

"  Yes,  I  noticed  that,"  replied  Beatrice.  "  He 
gave  it  to  a  club  servant.  The  man  refuses  to 
say  to  whom  it  was  addressed." 

"  Have  you  seen  your  morning  mail  yet?  " 

Beatrice  started. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  leaping  curiosity  strong 
in  her  voice.  "  I  will  ring  for  Mary  to  bring  it 
up." 

The  maid  came  in  with  a  thick  bundle  of  un- 
opened correspondence,  —  letters,  tradesmen's  cir- 
culars, and  here  and  there  the  familiar  invitation 
missive.  On  the  very  top  of  the  heap  Beatrice 
noted  with  a  chilling  thrill  the  boyish  flourishes 
of  Trexler's  handwriting.  The  envelope  was  post- 
marked the  night  before.  It  was  the  missing 
letter.  In  two  dexterous  movements  she  had 
dropped  the  bundle  in  her  lap,  and  shuffled  the 
letter  from  top  to  bottom;  by  still  another  she 
206 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

managed  to  slip  it  out  of  the  pack  entirely  and 
into  the  folds  of  her  gown.  Then  she  examined 
the  others  with  elaborate  attention. 

"  There  is  nothing  here,"  she  announced, 
finally.  "  It  is  just  possible,  you  see,  that  Mr. 
Trexler  may  know  other  women  than  ourselves, 
in  which  case  Edith  appears  somewhat  ridiculous. 
I  wish,  Alice,  you  would  take  her  to  her  room 
—  I  can  endure  no  more.  Persuade  her  to  be 
sensible." 

Edith  rose  to  her  feet.  "  I  will  try  to  be  chari- 
table," she  said,  sadly.  "  I  can  hardly  be  more 
sensible,"  and  then,  with  Mrs.  Jewett  following 
after,  she  left  the  room. 

When  they  had  gone,  Beatrice  took  out  the 
Trexler  letter  and  opened  it  with  nervous  impa- 
tience. There  was  a  single  sheet,  minus  date, 
direction,  or  superscription,  but  bearing  in  its 
centre  a  line  of  four  words,  whose  terrible  signifi- 
cance made  address  unnecessary.  Beatrice  read 
them  twice,  then  again,  then  over  and  over  and 
over,  until  they  seemed  to  flame  up  before  her 
eyes  and  burn  their  message  on  her  brain.  With 
every  fresh  perusal  the  fantastic  thought  that  the 
letters  heightened  and  broadened  grew  into  optical 
delusion.  When  she  heard  the  quiet  voice  of  the 
maid  at  her  elbow  she  almost  shrieked.  Mary 

207 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

held  out  a  card.  It  bore  the  name  of  Trexler, — 
Mrs.  Theodore  Manton  Trexler. 

"  She  insists  on  seeing  you,  Miss,"  said  the 
maid.  "  I  told  her  you  were  lying  down,  but  she 
seemed  quite  tearful  about  it.  Said  you  would 
know  —  that  it  was  a  matter  which  would  not 
admit  delay." 

Beatrice  thought  rapidly.  What  did  it  mean? 
Was  the  mother  come  to  add  her  burden  of 
reproach,  to  call  down  vengeance,  to  create  a 
scene?  Was  it  wise  to  admit  her?  What  did 
she  know  ?  What  would  she  say  ?  Beatrice  took 
fright  at  the  speculation,  but  curiosity  tinctured 
with  self-protection  urged  her  to  face  the  visitor. 
She  might  be  able  to  arrest  scandal,  though  in 
the  depths  of  her  soul  she  knew  that,  if  scandal 
were  advertisement  and  not  injury,  she  would 
welcome  its  appearance. 

"  Bring  her  up  quietly,  Mary,"  she  said,  "  and 
do  not  let  any  one  know  she  is  in  the  house." 

She  slipped  over  and  bolted  the  door  leading 
from  her  own  room  to  Edith's  suite,  and  remem- 
bering the  letter  hastened  to  conceal  it.  Then  she 
waited  the  meeting. 

Mrs.  Trexler's  appearance  was  a  restorative  in 
itself.  Instead  of  an  agent  of  retribution,  the 
woman  who  faced  her  was  a  contradiction  of  her 
208 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

station  and  clearly  helpless  for  injury.  The 
shrunken,  almost  feeble  body,  the  old-fashioned 
face,  worn  and  troubled,  seemed  not  the  legitimate 
property  of  a  banker's  wife,  but  rather  of  a  woman 
who  found  life  a  trial.  Beatrice,  as  she  watched 
her,  remembered  that  it  had  been  the  Trexler 
children  and  not  the  parents  who  had  conquered 
society.  Her  clothes  were  severe  and  her  attitude 
depressed.  She  stared  at  Beatrice  with  anxious, 
near-sighted  eyes  that  were  full  of  appeals.  One 
arm  reached  out  in  a  gesture  half-imploring. 

"  You  have  a  letter  from  my  son,"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  trembled. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  Beatrice, 
cautiously. 

"  He  posted  one  letter  before  —  before  the 
tragedy.  It  was  addressed  to  you,  Miss  Cam- 
eron." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did  get  a  letter  which  I  suppose 
came  from  him.  It  was  unsigned,  but  it  seemed 
to  be  in  his  handwriting.  Why,  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  last,  the  only  message  that  my  boy 
left.  I  am  his  mother.  I  came  to  ask  if  I 
might  see  it,  if  I  might  hear  its  contents,  and 
if  you  would  let  me  keep  the  paper  as  a 
memento?  " 

Her  anxiety  agitated  face,  voice,  and  body. 

209 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

She  took  a  step  toward  Beatrice  as  though  to 
invite  the  favour.  Beatrice  stiffened  up  with  the 
quick  instinct  of  defence. 

"  I  would  rather  not,"  she  said,  coldly ;  "  it  is 
entirely  private  and  would  not  interest  you  in  the 
least." 

The  little  old-fashioned  woman  withered.  Her 
hands  fell  to  her  sides;  the  face  lost  its  activity 
of  hope. 

"  Do  you  not  understand,"  she  faltered,  "  it 
was  his  last  message.  It  will  be  for  my  eyes  alone. 
It  will  be  in  confidence." 

"  It  is  not  a  message  I  wish  to  make  public," 
said  Beatrice,  stonily.  "  I  do  not  care  to  suffer 
unearned  reproach." 

"  It  cannot  matter  now,"  said  the  visitor,  her 
eyes  filling  swiftly  with  tears,  "  my  poor  boy  is 
dead  —  nothing  can  bring  him  home  again.  I 
do  not  want  to  reproach  you;  I  want  to  see  his 
handwriting  —  to  hear  his  voice  beyond  the  grave. 
You  have  the  only  message  in  the  world.  I  beg 
of  you  to  be  merciful  —  if  I  may  not  keep  it,  let 
me  see  it  —  let  me  look  at  it." 

For  an  instant  pity,  keen  and  honest,  touched 

Beatrice's  heart.     She  strove  to  be  tender.     But 

she  knew  that  she  must  resist  every  appeal  —  no 

other  eyes  but  her  own  should  see  the  dead  man's 

210 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

missive.  Her  only  concern  was  to  make  refusal 
easy,  to  wound  this  woman  as  little  as  possible, 
and  still  refuse. 

"  I  cannot  do  that,"  she  faltered,  "  it  would 
only  make  you  unhappy,  Mrs.  Trexler." 

"  Tell  me,  did  he  speak  of  me?  " 

"  O,  no." 

"  Was  it  a  loving  message  —  did  it  sound  like 
my  boy  ?  " 

Beatrice  flushed. 

"  No,  I  hardly  think  you  would  recognise  it.  It 
was  a  purely  personal  communication." 

"  My  boy  loved  you,  Miss  Cameron.  I  think  he 
died  for  you,  and  you  who  have  robbed  me  of 
the  only  light  in  a  life  of  bitterness,  of  suffering 
—  you  refuse  me  this  blessing.  I  cannot  think 
you  mean  to  be  cruel." 

Beatrice's  lips  drew  together  in  aggressive 
lines. 

"  It  is  you  who  are  cruel,"  she  said,  "  if  your 
son  killed  himself  for  me,  he  struck  a  coward  blow 
at  an  innocent  woman." 

"  Let  us  not  be  contentious,"  answered  the 
mother,  sadly,  "  we  stand  by  an  open  grave.  If 
there  is  anything  in  this  letter  that  you  fancy  may 
offend  me,  realise,  please,  how  little  reproach  can 
serve  to  regain  the  lost.  I  did  not  mean  to  wound 

211 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

you.  I  only  ask  that  you  believe  my  forgiveness, 
if  forgiveness  is  needed,  and  let  me  have  the  mes- 
sage. It  shall  go  along  with  his  clothes  and  his 
trinkets,  and  no  other  eye  shall  ever  learn  its 
secret." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Trexler,"  said  Beatrice,  with  a 
clumsy  effort  at  gentleness,  "  the  message  would 
only  distress  you,  and  besides,  you  would  not 
understand  it  if  you  saw  it." 

The  little  woman  looked  at  Beatrice  as  though 
unable  to  realise  her  disappointment.  Then  with 
a  sigh  she  turned  and  walked  to  the  door  —  a 
trembling,  age-stricken  figure,  whose  normal  lot 
seemed  sorrow,  and  whose  shoulders  bent  to 
receive  this  new  burden  with  resignation. 

Beatrice  lit  a  gas  jet,  and  taking  the  letter 
from  its  envelope  turned  its  open  length  to  the 
flame,  and  the  fire  ate  up  around  the  edges  slowly, 
leaving  as  its  last  morsel  the  four  bitter  words 
staring  from  the  centre  of  the  sheet  —  "  THOU 

SHALT  NOT  KILL." 


212 


CHAPTER   IX. 

rHE  great  vaudeville  dinner  was  designed 
for  calcium  effects.  Its  interest  was 
purely  spectacular.  Neither  Beatrice  nor 
Mrs.  Jewett  treated  it  with  any  more  conserva- 
tism than  they  would  have  given  to  an  amateur 
circus.  There  were  to  be  singers  and  dancers  and 
short-skirted  soubrettes  who  turned  hand-springs, 
jugglers  and  ragtime  artists;  and  they  even 
revived  the  stag  dinner  triumph  of  bringing  in  a 
young  person  in  a  pie. 

To  be  sure  of  missing  no  feature,  Mrs.  Jewett 
got  a  vaudeville  programme  and  turned  it  over 
to  a  theatrical  agency  for  imitation. 

"  There  is  not  a  new  thing  in  it,"  she  explained 
to  Beatrice,  "  but  our  people  cannot  see  vaudeville 
without  risk,  and  you  can  rely  on  its  being  a 
novelty." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Beatrice,  doubtfully,  "  the 
individual  in  a  pie  is  certainly  a  revival." 

"  Suppose  it  isn't  new.  Nobody  can  be  original 
nowadays ;  too  many  persons  are  thinking  at  once. 

213 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

When  you  provide  the  Irish  sketch  team  and  the 
Dollybird  Sisters  you  give  them  just  what  they 
want,  although  they  do  agonise  over  the  trilogy. 
How  many  of  these  people  do  you  imagine  ever 
heard  ragtime  in  its  native  lair  ?  And  how  many 
do  you  fancy  know  the  flat-footed  dancers  or  the 
German  comedian?  They'll  be  delighted." 

They  had  come  together  to  arrange  the  details 
a  few  mornings  after  the  Trexler  episode.  Mrs. 
Jewett,  with  a  considerate  idea  of  saving  Beatrice, 
had  made  no  reference  to  the  suicide,  and  she  was 
therefore  surprised  when  Beatrice  herself  un- 
covered the  spectre. 

"  Before  we  take  up  the  dinner,  Alice,"  she  had 
said,  with  baffling  composure,  "  I  would  like  to 
ask  if  you  do  not  think  it  strange  the  papers  have 
not  tried  to  connect  me  with  Mr.  Trexler's  death. 
You  have  seen  nothing  of  the  sort,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  pray  I  may  not,"  answered  Mrs. 
Jewett,  quickly.  "Why?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Beatrice,  evasively.  "  It  is 
their  custom  to  omit  no  romantic  feature,  and  I 
wondered  why  I  should  escape." 

"  While  we   are  on   the   subject,"   said   Mrs. 

Jewett,  thoughtfully,  "  let  me  ask  that  you  cater 

to  Edith's  view  of  the  matter  far  enough  to  make 

it  a  closed  incident.     It  might  be  well  for  you  to 

214 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

show  some  little  compunction.  Either  do  that,  or 
deny  responsibility.  She  is  conscientious,  you 
know,  and  the  matter  has  inspired  a  dread  of  your 
power." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Alice,"  said 
Beatrice,  with  decision.  "  Edith  has  no  right  to 
side  against  me." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  urged  Mrs.  Jewett.  "  Edith's 
temperament  is  spiritual  and  religious,  and  she 
thinks  you  abuse  the  charm  nature  has  given  you. 
I  ca'ught  her  crying  once." 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  Edith  cannot  engage  the 
cavaliers.  She  would  appreciate  my  difficulties. 
The  affair  has  shocked  me,  Alice,  and  I  request 
that  you  never  bring  it  up  again." 

Mrs.  Jewett  stared  and  caught  her  breath. 
Then,  as  though  finishing  an  interrupted  sentence, 
she  returned  to  the  dinner. 

"  In  stag  parties,"  she  remarked,  "  it  is  usual 
for  the  contents  of  the  pie  to  do  a  pas  seul  on  the 
table." 

"  But  that  might  embarrass  the  men,"  said 
Beatrice;  "their  wives  will  be  there." 

"  I  was  about  to  say  so.  Therefore,  it  would 
be  better  if  the  contents  acted  as  a  messenger." 

"  A  Cupid,  you  mean,"  asked  Beatrice,  ex- 
citedly, "  with  a  girdle  and  quiver?  " 

215 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  of  that.  The  only  available 
Cupids  are  child  actresses.  The  men  would  resent 
the  compromise,  and  the  matrons  might  worry 
about  her  catching  cold.  A  better  plan  would 
be  a  postman." 

"  But  why  the  pie,  Alice?  Couldn't  he  come  in 
like  any  other  postman,  only  laden  with  favours  ?  " 

"  That  is  an  idea,  but  I  prefer  the  pie  for  two 
reasons :  it  looks  daring,  and  it  gives  the  com- 
pany material  for  jests.  A  pie  is  the  easiest  thing 
to  joke  about  under  the  sun." 

"  What  would  the  messenger  distribute?  " 

"  Gold  mounted  opera-glasses,  or  better  yet, 
personal  notes  impaled  by  stick-pins.  These 
might  be  very  costly." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  are  taxing  the  dignity 
of  the  guests  ?  " 

"  Just  a  little,"  admitted  Mrs.  Jewett,  "  but  my 
excuse  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  a  wholesome 
wrench  from  the  ordinary.  We  run  a  risk  of 
being  absurd,  but  we  may  so  far  amuse  them  as 
to  be  called  original.  In  any  case,  the  papers 
must  say  something.  Let  us  be  dauntless." 

"  You  have  the  spirit  of  a  dance-hall  manager," 
said  Beatrice,  laughing.  "  I  think  I  had  better 
stand  aside." 

The  whole  project  was  in  very  fact  an  audacious 
216 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  uncertain  move.  Mrs.  Jewett's  plan  was  to 
leap  from  the  familiar  level  of  the  dance  to 
theatrical  heights  of  hospitality.  It  would  be  not 
merely  a  dinner  —  it  would  be  a  combined  circus 
performance  and  gift  scheme,  whose  magnitude 
would  compel  that  attention  necessary  to  progress. 
She  figured  on  the  interlude  between  the  floral 
display  and  the  present  time  softening  any  hint  of 
advertising. 

The  invitation  list  gave  Mrs.  Jewett  great 
concern.  Where  such  an  open  bid  was  made  for 
publicity  it  was  imperative  that  it  should  have 
social  endorsement.  This  fact  was  impressed  on 
her  during  a  business-like  talk  with  Gotham. 

"  Mr.  Gotham,"  she  had  said,  "  you  know 
Miss  Cameron  ranks  you  among  her  very  closest 
friends.  You  can  hardly  fail  to  reciprocate.  We 
want  every  society  reporter  in  New  York  to  give 
this  dinner  attention." 

"  I  hardly  see  how  you  can  expect  that,  Mrs. 
Jewett,"  answered  Gotham,  shrinking  at  the 
breadth  of  the  hint.  "  The  progamme  is  not 
original,  and  I'm  afraid  the  brass-band  quality 
may  be  misunderstood." 

Mrs.  Jewett  smiled  cheerfully. 

"  When  you  look  back  on  the  vegetable  parties, 
the  fancy  dress  balls,  and  society  minstrels,"  she 

217 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

said,  "  I  think  you  will  admit  that  we  are  not  the 
only  patrons  of  the  bass  drum.  I  don't  care  how 
much  they  misunderstand,  only  I  don't  want  them 
to  neglect  it." 

Gotham  came  up  to  her  confidentially.  "  Then 
see  to  it,  Mrs.  Jewett,  that  your  company  warrants 
the  display.  The  rose  reception  was  a  freaky 
affair,  and  was  treated  as  such.  The  people  were 
below  par.  This  time  you  want  serious  treatment. 
To  use  a  theatrical  term,  your  guest  list  should  be 
made  up  of  '  top  liners.' ' 

"  I  am  sorry  it  is  not  a  musicale,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Jewett. 

"  So  you  could  establish  a  record  price  for  song- 
birds?" 

"  O,  no.  It  is  the  fad  now  to  produce  unher- 
alded genius.  One  is  credited  with  fostering 
talent" 

"  Also  it  is  cheaper." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that.  A  musicale  is  so 
much  easier  to  handle.  You  can  use  the  tri- 
angular method  —  working  from  Friend  No.  I  to 
Friend  No.  10  to  capture  desirable  guest  No.  n. 
A  dinner  is  restricted." 

"  Yes,  but  the  triangular  method  is  dangerous. 
There  is  the  case  of  Mrs.  Van  Ornam." 

"  O,  she  is  the  exception  to  every  rule." 
218 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  She  invited  a  young  woman  after  that  fashion, 
and  when  she  responded,  Mrs.  Van  Ornam  was 
horrified  to  find  that  she  was  an  old  flame  of  her 
husband's.     The  visitor  had  married,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Ornam  was  deceived  by  the  new  name." 
"  The  other  woman  knew,  of  course?  " 
"  Certainly ;    she  was  seeking  revenge." 
"  What   happened  ?      Did    Mrs.    Van    Ornam 
suffer?" 

"  Not  at  all.  Her  capacity  for  getting  into 
trouble  is  only  equalled  by  her  skill  in  getting 
out." 

"  I  know  some  men  like  that.  They  make  a 
habit  of  bankruptcy." 

"  Mrs.  Van  Ornam  told  the  ex-rival  that  her 
husband  was  eccentric  —  that  he  had  become 
religious." 

"  Meaning  to  frighten  her  off,  I  suppose?  " 
"  Quite  so.     And  she  succeeded.     When  Mr. 
Van  Ornam  made  his  appearance  he  was  full  of 
a  revival  spirit  and  —  " 

"  Then  Mrs.  Van  Ornam  told  the  truth  ?  " 
"  Full  of  reviving  his  old  love,  I  mean.  But  she 
talked  mission  work  with  the  idea  of  interesting 
him,  and  he  dared  not  change  the  subject  because 
he  thought  she  had  grown  spiritual.  They  separ- 
ated highly  disgusted  with  each  other." 

219 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"And  Mrs.  VanOrnam?" 

"  She  commiserated  both." 

"  The  only  fault  I  have  to  find  with  your  version 
is  that  it  is  not  correct." 

"  O,  they  may  have  righted  their  wrongs 
afterward." 

"  There  was  no  afterward.  Mrs.  Van  Ornam 
threw  them  together  in  the  hope  of  escaping  her- 
self. She  gave  the  musicale  for  that  purpose. 
The  young  woman  was  really  religious  —  at  that 
time  —  and  she  tried  hard  to  interest  the  man. 
The  fact  that  he  was  disgusted  is  true  enough, 
but  he  was  not  nearly  so  disappointed  as  Mrs. 
Van  Ornam." 

"  How  can  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  was  the  other  woman." 

Gotham's  face  reddened,  and  he  looked  at 
Mrs.  Jewett  in  dismay. 

"  Well  —  I  —  I  —  like  your  version  best,  any- 
how," he  stammered. 

"  So  do  I,"  laughed  Mrs.  Jewett.  "  My  name 
was  Register  then.  It  was  my  first  marriage,  and 
that  is  why  you  did  not  identify  me.  When  it 
occurred,  I  imagine,  you  were  still  at  Harvard." 

"  Mrs.  Jewett,  I  was  clumsy.    Forgive  me." 

"  O,  don't  feel  badly.    You  have  no  idea  how 


22O 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

much  worse  you  might  have  done  if  you  knew 
more  of  my  career." 

"  Tell  me,  Mrs.  Jewett,"  said  Gotham,  curi- 
ously, "  was  Mr.  Van  Ornam  a  party  to  the  plot  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Jewett,  shortly,  "  but 
he  worked  just  as  hard  as  though  he  were." 

"  Another  legend  gone,"  sighed  Gotham,  play- 
fully ;  "  I  think,  though,  the  substitute  is  better." 

"If  you  must  have  any  at  all,  yes." 

"  It  shall  go  on  the  shelf.  I  am  sorry,  too,  for 
I  dislike  Van  Ornam." 

Gotham's  warning  about  the  guests  aroused 
Mrs.  Jewett  to  the  need  for  action.  He  had 
pointed  out  the  weakness  of  scenic  effects  where 
the  promoters  lacked  an  audience  of  the  elect. 
To  purvey  freaks  and  win  position  in  supplement 
spreads  might  answer  for  a  time,  but  the  real 
stepping-stones  to  social  position  lay  in  serious 
chronicles  of  their  efforts.  This  was  not  to  be  ob- 
tained unless  Beatrice's  associates  in  their  personal 
identity  bid  for  recognition  of  all  that  she  might 
do.  So  Mrs.  Jewett  was  microscopic  in  her  search 
after  the  "  top  liners."  For  one  entire  day  she 
edited  and  revised  until  there  was  catalogued 
every  important  member  of  their  clientele.  The 
list  was  brief,  but  it  contained  a  group  of  names 
not  to  be  overlooked  by  any  society  editor  in 

221 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

New  York.  As  it  stood  it  marked  encouraging 
progress.  From  the  day  she  and  Beatrice  had 
linked  fortunes  over  the  tea-cups  there  had  been  a 
steady  gain  of  good  material.  Even  Edith  was 
made  to  do  service. 

"  It  is  practically  a  joint  dinner,"  urged  Mrs. 
Jewett,  "  and  some  of  the  younger  members  of 
your  Ice  Fund,  for  instance,  would  come  if  you 
asked.  You  must  do  something,  Edith.  Our 
list  is  still  slim." 

"  I  am  rather  afraid  of  the  vaudevilles,"  an- 
swered Edith,  slowly,  "  otherwise  —  " 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  they  think  after  they 
are  here,"  Mrs.  Jewett  hurried  on.  "  They  can't 
run,  and  I  predict  they  won't  want  to.  It's  a 
private  jaunt  into  Bohemia." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Edith,  courageously,  "  only 
I  fancy  I  shall  be  busy  afterward  explaining  why 
I  betrayed  them." 

"  Nonsense.  I  hope,  Edith,  you  are  not  letting 
that  Trexler  matter  depress  you  still  ?  " 

Edith  raised  her  hand  pleadingly.  "  Don't, 
Alice,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  please,  anything  but 
that." 

"  Very  well,  Edith.  I  had  an  object  in  asking. 
Have  you  seen  Captain  Channing?" 


222 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Not  since,  Alice.  I  have  been  afraid  to  face 
him.  I  pleaded  illness." 

"  I  think  you  do  him  an  injustice.  He  cannot 
possibly  connect  you  with  the  matter,  and  you 
are  not  responsible  for  Beatrice.  Besides,  I  ques- 
tion whether  he  knows  anything.  He  is  away 
from  the  gossips.  He  will  be  at  the  dinner,  you 
know."  Edith  was  silent.  She  looked  at  Mrs. 
Jewett  as  though  for  guidance.  "  And  you  must 
meet  him  as  though  nothing  had  happened,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Jewett.  "  I  cannot  imagine  that  he 
will  even  look  any  suspicions  he  has,  much  less 
speak  them." 

"  I  will  do  as  you  say,"  replied  Edith,  her  face 
brightening,  "  and  trust  that  he  does  not  know." 

"  Your  idea  of  Captain  Channing  is  unique," 
laughed  Mrs.  Jewett;  "with  most  of  the  men 
Beatrice  has  advanced  her  worth." 

When  the  time  arrived  to  send  out  the  invita- 
tions, Mrs.  Jewett  knew  that  a  number  of  the 
foremost  members  of  the  smart  set  would  respond. 
It  was  the  strongest  array  of  names  that  had  ever 
graced  a  beginner's  banner,  and  the  middle  class 
element  used  for  filling  in  had  been  reduced  to  a 
minimum.  Gotham's  mandate  stood  obeyed. 

She  displayed  the  list  to  Beatrice  with  pride. 
"  The  battle  line  moves  forward,"  she  observed. 

223 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  You  have  done  well,  Alice,"  replied  Beatrice, 
with  a  flicker  of  gratitude;  "  but  you  must  admit 
that  you  have  an  excellent  drawing  card." 

"Meaning  the  dinner?" 

"  Meaning  myself,  Alice." 

While  Mrs.  Jewett  grappled  with  the  mana- 
gerial problem,  Beatrice  was  occupied  in  putting 
down  a  sudden  rebellion  by  Mrs.  Lambert.  The 
aunt  came  out  of  her  retirement  and  filed  a  vigor- 
ous protest  against  any  mutilation  of  the  ballroom, 
which  Beatrice  had  seized  on  for  the  entertain- 
ment. 

She  did  not  like  having  a  special  table  built, 
and  at  the  proposed  stage  she  balked  flatly.  "  The 
idea  of  theatricals  in  a  private  house,"  she  ex- 
claimed ;  "  it  is  vulgar !  " 

"  Some  of  the  scenes  we  witness  in  the  family 
circle  are  vastly  more  vulgar  than  those  on  the 
stage,"  replied  Beatrice,  pointedly. 

"  Possibly,"  retorted  Mrs.  Lambert,  unabashed, 
"  but  we  do  not  have  an  audience." 

Beatrice  was  both  persuasive  and  defiant,  but 
she  gained  nothing.  Experimentally  she  sent  for 
Holt.  She  told  him  her  dilemma,  and  begged  him 
to  overthrow  the  ultimatum.  His  success  was 
complete.  Mrs.  Lambert  surrendered  at  all  points. 
But  so  far  as  Holt  was  concerned,  the  net  result 
224 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

was  to  enliven  Beatrice's  already  brisk  animosity. 
His  triumph  was  pleasing,  but  in  its  celerity  lay 
an  affront.  It  took  a  real  effort  to  thank  him. 

It  is  a  commonplace  of  philosophy  that  ex- 
pectation is  more  than  realisation.  This  applies 
quite  as  much  to  things  evil  as  to  things  good. 
It  applied  with  particular  force  to  the  dinner. 
Every  one  of  the  fears  that  beset  Beatrice  proved 
wasted  forebodings.  The  chef  was  at  his  best,  the 
theatricals  seemed  an  astonishing  novelty,  and 
the  'dreaded  effect  of  vulgar  display  was  not  at 
any  time  manifest.  To  Beatrice  the  census  of 
guests  was  an  ecstasy.  She  saw  gathered  a  com- 
pany whose  meeting  at  her  board  marked  definite 
progress.  They  were  the  youngest  and  least  known 
cadets  of  society,  but  they  had  a  line  apiece  in  that 
very  catalogue  which  she  had  once  waved  in  the 
face  of  her  aunt,  and  they  made  a  majority  of 
those  present. 

She  ran  her  eyes  along  the  glittering,  crescent- 
shaped  table,  cleverly  designed  to  focus  the  tem- 
porary stage,  and  murmured  the  names  as  a 
stimulant.  On  her  right  sat  Mrs.  Jewett,  then 
Gotham,  next  Holt,  beside  him  Captain  Channing, 
and  then  a  half-dozen,  perhaps,  of  the  middle 
class  stand-bys.  After  these  came  Mrs.  Clinton 
Bostock,  a  dashing  society  widow,  quite  the  ideal 

225 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

type  of  reconciled  relict ;  Mrs.  Theodore  Thomp- 
son, who  appreciated  her  golf-playing  reputation, 
and  would  talk  of  nothing  else;  Mr.  French 
Smithers,  a  dilettante  portrait  artist,  who  was 
unpopular  with  the  men  because  he  painted  their 
wives;  and  two  colourless  debutantes  under  the 
needless  restraint  of  a  dowager  cousin.  Far  out 
on  the  horn  of  the  crescent  sat  Layton,  who 
debited  Mrs.  Jewett  with  his  isolation  from  Bea- 
trice, and  who  spent  the  evening  making  dynamic 
remarks  to  his  neighbours. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hostess  sat  Edith,  still 
wearing  a  visible  depression,  but  not  permit- 
ting the  shadow  to  mar  her  spirit.  Next  to 
her  was  Felix  Wetmore,  the  cotillion  leader  and 
only  remaining  member  of  the  Trexler  contingent, 
and  beyond  him  the  flower  of  the  feast  —  Mrs. 
Ancaster  Roberts,  the  Sempleman  girls,  Mrs. 
Atherton,  Miss  Layton,  Fairfax  Royer,  an  import 
from  Virginia;  Lester  Allison,  prototype  of 
Layton;  Vance  Burden,  prototype  of  Allison; 
Mrs.  Castle,  of  the  Ice  Fund  circle;  Mr.  Castle, 
and  on  the  end  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sloane,  just  emerg- 
ing from  the  honeymoon  stage  to  the  limpness 
of  close  acquaintance. 

Beatrice  sparkled  at  the  review. 

"  Mr.  Gotham,"  she  murmured,  "  what  do  you 
226 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

think  of  them?  An  opinion,  if  you  please,  as 
reviewing  officer." 

"  Splendid,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "  best  junior 
turnout  I  have  ever  seen  for  a  primary  effort." 

"  I  am  particularly  pleased  that  we  have  Mr. 
Wetmore,"  she  added,  meaningly. 

"  It  is  just  as  well.  I  killed  his  resentment, 
though,  a  week  ago.  Told  him  you  thought  he 
preserved  the  best  traditions  of  Beau  Brummel." 

"  That  was  kind.  I  suppose  you  meant  in 
clothes?" 

"  He  thought  so.  What  I  meant  was  another 
tradition." 

"His  audacity?" 

"No,  his  debts." 

Mrs.  Jewett's  theory  of  the  theatricals  was 
grandly  vindicated.  Vaudevilles  were  no  novelty 
to  the  men  nor  to  one  or  two  female  adventurers 
into  Hammerstein's,  but  with  the  majority  they 
proved  unique  and  delightful.  They  suggested 
forbidden  fruits  enjoyed  under  the  domestic  wing. 

Nor  did  the  bogus  pie  fail  of  effect.  When  two 
waiters  staggered  in  bearing  the  colossal  pastry, 
both  Mrs.  Jewett  and  Beatrice  trembled;  they 
shrank  from  a  fizzle.  But  when  under  the  touch 
of  a  giant  carving-knife,  a  dainty  maid  clad  as  a 
postman  leaped  from  the  crust,  and  running  from 

227 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

guest  to  guest,  left  at  each  plate  an  appropriate 
missive,  the  whole  table  rippled  its  applause. 

"  We  owe  you  thanks,"  murmured  Gotham. 
"  I  was  afraid  it  was  going  to  be  an  apparition 
in  tights." 

"  No,"  responded  Beatrice,  gleefully,  "  we  are 
seeking  novelties.  Those  notes,  you  will  find, 
have  a  personal  significance." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  he  answered,  mischievously. 
"  Mine  is  addressed  —  '  To  the  moulder  of  public 
opinion  '  —  social  opinion,  you  mean,  don't  you?  " 

"  Of  course.  It  is  a  compliment.  Social 
opinion  is  much  harder  to  mould  than  public 
opinion." 

When  the  last  dainty  ice  had  marked  a  period 
to  the  feast,  Beatrice  rose  in  her  place,  and  looked 
slowly  about  the  company.  The  talk  ran  off  into 
concluding  ripples,  and  then  stopped  altogether. 
There  was  a  hush  of  expectation.  She  stood  in 
silence  for  a  full  moment,  flushed,  smiling,  her 
eyes  brilliant  and  excited,  a  picture  of  the  hostess 
triumphant.  Mrs.  Jewett  looked  across  at  Edith 
nervously.  This  move  was  not  on  their  pro- 
gramme, and  she  dreaded  some  indiscretion. 
Edith  looked  back  fearfully.  Their  distrust  was 
mutual. 

"  I  know  it  is  not  customary  to  make  speeches 
228 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

at  private  dinners,"  began  Beatrice,  "  but  I  see 
no  reason  why  the  flow  of  soul,  which  is  such  a 
feature  of  the  banquet,  should  be  denied  in  the 
home  circle.  Therefore,  I  shall  disregard  custom 
and  take  advantage  of  my  position  to  reform  what 
I  consider  a  much  abused  toast.  There  was  never 
a  banquet  among  men  where  the  familiar  toast, 
'  To  the  ladies,'  did  not  range  the  adjectives  of 
eulogium;  there  was  never  a  response  which  did 
not  ring  with  hypocrisy.  Women  are  not  such 
wonderful  creatures;  their  limitations  are  many, 
and  their  incapacity  great.  Women  never  did 
anything  well  in  the  world,  except  the  things  they 
are  intended  to  do,  and  legions  of  them  fail  in 
even  that.  Every  departure  into  the  fields  of 
men  meets  with  rebuke.  The  very  men  who  make 
these  toasts  believe  in  women  as  women,  and 
despise  them  for  anything  else  under  heaven. 
Let  us  then  hear  something  sensible  about  the  sex 
—  and  from  a  man.  Let  us  not  sit  smiling  under 
the  adjectives,  but  welcome  a  fresh  breeze  of 
analysis.  I  have  been  curious  all  my  life  to  hear 
an  honest  man's  honest  opinion  of  ourselves  in 
the  concrete,  and  I  know  all  the  rest  of  you 
have.  It  is  in  line  with  the  novelties  of  the 
evening." 

She  halted,  and  played  with  the  flowers  at  her 

229 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

corsage,  while  the  company  hesitated  between 
applause  and  dissent. 

"  This  flower,"  said  Beatrice,  holding  up  a 
violet,  "  shall  designate  the  man.  I  reserve  to 
myself  the  right  of  reply." 

She  tossed  the  flower  deliberately  to  one  side, 
along  the  line  of  guests  to  the  right.  It  fell 
squarely  between  Philip  Holt  and  Captain  Chan- 
ning.  Both  men  made  a  simultaneous  move  to 
rise,  but  Beatrice  leaned  forward  and  checked 
Holt  with  a  motion  of  her  hand.  Her  eyes  were 
brilliant  with  the  light  of  excitement. 

"  I  said  man,"  she  half- whispered,  "  not  mis- 
sionary." 

For  an  instant  Holt  hung  on  the  point  of  rising ; 
then  his  cheek  paled,  and  he  sank  back  into  his 
seat.  Those  who  heard  the  remark  saw  the  intent 
to  insult  without  understanding.  Some  few  stared 
at  Beatrice  and  then  at  Holt,  but  the  others  tried 
to  relieve  the  embarrassment  by  indifference. 
Channing  saved  a  scene.  Instead  of  taking  fright 
he  rose  hurriedly  and  plunged  into  his  assignment. 
With  a  dozen  words  he  had  diverted  attention 
from  Holt,  and  confined  knowledge  of  the  incident 
to  those  about  him.  It  was  quick  and  clever. 

"  I  can  hardly  imagine  myself  in  this  attitude," 
he  began,  gracefully,  "  except  under  orders.  My 
230 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

inclinations  are  all  in  favour  of  beginning,  '  The 
ladies,  God  bless  them/  and  winding  up  with 
'  God  bless  the  ladies.'  But  as  our  charming  host- 
ess desires  analysis  and  not  platitudes,  I  can  only 
hope  to  please  her  while  displeasing  myself.  The 
limitations  of  women  are  quite  as  numerous  as  she 
suggests  —  too  numerous  to  review.  I  shall, 
therefore,  confine  myself  to  the  familiar  matter  of 
sexual  sentiment.  This  is  a  subject  in  which  we 
are  all  interested ;  it  is  the  greatest  problem  in  the 
world.  From  its  solution  springs  sometimes  hap- 
piness, very  often  sorrow,  and  now  and  again 
tragedy.  But  no  one  of  us  may  escape  its  question. 
Love  is  an  asset  or  liability  that  appears  on  the 
books  of  every  individual,  and  it  is  in  these  records 
that  the  shame  or  glory  of  women  is  written.  And 
why  women  ?  Why  not  men  ?  Because  with  men 
love  is  incidental,  with  women  it  is  the  first  fact 
of  existence.  Perhaps  this  explains  the  cruelty  of 
women  —  in  a  sense  I  admit  it  may  even  justify 
it.  Seventy  per  cent,  of  the  failures  of  love  pro- 
ceed from  woman's  incompetence  and  cruelty. 
They  go  into  the  world  believing  that  the  love  of 
man,  or  rather  his  adoration,  is  their  birthright 
and  due.  They  never  look  for  friendship  or 
brotherly  affection ;  they  demand  prostration,  and 
they  insist  on  the  fullest  measure  of  material 

231 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

slavery.  It  never  occurs  to  them  that  happier 
results  might  flow  from  comradeship  than  from 
bondage,  and  they  put  on  the  screws  of  senti- 
mental demand  until  the  victim  faints  beneath  the 
pressure.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  prettier  spectacle 
than  a  mutually  dependent  man  and  wife,  sharing 
their  duties,  exchanging  comradeship  for  the  task- 
master, Love?  And  can  you  imagine  an  uglier 
picture  than  the  selfish  woman  standing  above  the 
infatuated  man,  shrieking,  '  My  love  demands 
more  money,'  '  My  love  demands  more  affection,' 
'  My  love  should  be  the  first  thing  in  the  world,' 
until  the  day  arrives  when  it  really  becomes  the 
first  thing  —  the  first  thing  he  wants  to  escape 
from.  And  yet  this  is  the  normal  attitude  of  seven 
women  out  of  ten.  They  do  not  want  man's  love 
other  than  as  tribute.  What  is  the  result?  The 
poor  victim,  bereft  of  passion,  and  denied  love, 
adopts  hypocrisy  in  defence,  or,  worse  still,  sinks 
to  dishonour  to  ease  his  sufferings.  When  women 
realise  that  love  does  not  give  them  a  first  lien 
on  a  man's  body,  soul,  and  pocketbook,  there  will 
be  a  day  when  marriage  is  not  a  scoff,  and  the 
poets  will  have  a  new  song  to  sing.  It  is  for 
women  to  be  merciful ;  they  are  the  natural 
rulers ;  but  let  their  dominion  be  a  sisterhood,  and 
not  tyranny." 
232 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

The  speaker  stopped,  as  if  conscious  that  he 
had  shown  a  trifle  more  emphasis  than  the  occa- 
sion demanded.  He  bowed  sweepingly  to  Bea- 
trice. "  I  have  arraigned  our  sisters  on  probably 
their  cardinal  failing,"  he  ended ;  "  for  the  rest, 
they  are  very  superior  cooks,  splendid  nurses,  and 
much  better  than  men  in  the  care  of  small  chil- 
dren." 

The  applause  that  Channing  received  was  thin. 
The  men  could  not  respond,  and  the  women 
would  not,  but  he  looked  to  Beatrice  to  justify 
him.  She  did  so  promptly. 

"Captain  Channing  has,  in  a  measure,  disarmed 
me,"  she  began,  as  she  arose.  "  I  feel  so  in  har- 
mony with  his  thought  I  cannot  attack  it.  Be- 
tween friendship  and  the  emotion  called  love, 
which  is  really  an  alias  for  passion,  there  is 
nothing  to  argue.  If  more  of  what  is  sneered 
at  as  Platonic  affection  could  prevail,  happiness 
would  increase.  Still  I  doubt  not  I  shall  find  a 
text.  Captain  Channing's  toast  may  be  called 
'  The  Tyrant  Love.'  My  own  shall  be  '  Vanity 
as  Self-defence.'  Captain  Channing  declares  us 
Shylocks  of  affection.  The  truth  of  his  claim  may 
not  be  denied.  But  we  have  the  excuse  of  neces- 
sity. Man  is  the  highest  type  of  egotist.  He 
assumes  that  he  is  under-lord  of  creation,  and  for 

233 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

many  centuries  his  dominion  over  women  had 
the  sanction  of  law.  Woman  was  forced  to  rely 
on  the  protection  of  sentiment  when  sentiment 
could  be  aroused.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that 
women  guard  their  agency  of  power?  Is  it 
strange,  that  knowing  sentiment  as  their  only 
strength,  they  should  struggle  to  keep  its  flame 
alive  in  the  breasts  of  husband,  lover,  or  friend? 
It  is  never  hard  to  light  the  blaze  of  passion,  but 
it  is  so  hard  sometimes  to  nourish  that  other  flame 
of  affection  from  which  springs  happiness.  Captain 
Channing  complains  that  women  make  men  toe 
the  sentimental  mark.  I  tell  Captain  Channing 
that  if  they  were  not  reminded  of  their  duty  they 
would  never  do  it.  When  a  woman  gives  her 
heart  away,  she  gives  so  much  of  her  being  that 
she  cannot  bear  to  see  a  failure  of  exchange.  So 
she  battles  to  win  the  half  of  that  which  she  gives. 
It  is  not  cruelty,  though  it  may  be  thoughtless 
tyranny.  If  man  had  nothing  else  in  all  the 
world  but  his  heart,  we  may  suppose  that  to 
nourish  it  he  would  employ  cruelty  unknown  to 
woman,  because  missing  from  her  nature.  It  is 
a  pitiful  spectacle,  this  warfare  to  retain  a  foothold 
on  the  quicksand  of  man's  affections.  Were  men 
less  busy  dodging  their  romantic  obligations, 
women  would  be  less  active  imposing  them.  For 

234 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

the  rest,"  she  ended,  in  mockery  of  Channing, 
"  men  are  excellent  money-makers,  good  for 
checking  baggage,  and  much  better  than  women 
as  escorts." 

As  she  finished,  she  raised  her  glass  and  smiled 
happily. 

"  Let  us  toast  that  beautiful  borderland  between 
love  and  indifference  —  the  sweet,  calm  country 
of'  Friendship." 

The  company  responded  with  noisy  enthusiasm. 
Nobody  had  given  the  speeches  serious  thought, 
but  there  was  danger  of  offence  in  comment,  and 
they  retreated  gladly  to  the  shelter  of  the  toast. 
It  was  a  graceful  finish  to  a  piquant  episode.  The 
dinner  had  won.  When  the  guests  were  leaving, 
Edith  slipped  up  to  Captain  Channing,  her  eyes 
grave  and  anxious. 

"  You  did  not  mean  it  all,"  she  asked,  seriously, 
"  there  is  nothing  in  your  life  —  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Edith,"  he  interrupted,  lightly, 
"  I  did  not  mean  any  of  it.  I  was  called  on  for  a 
performance,  and  I  played  a  part.  How  could 
I  mean  it,"  he  added,  with  sudden  tenderness, 
"  when  I  know  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  happily,  "  and  I  should 
have  understood." 


235 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

The  next  morning  Beatrice  sat  again  in  a  field 
of  newspapers,  but  this  time  it  was  to  clip. 
Gotham  had  done  his  work  thoroughly.  In  his 
own  newspaper  a  column  display  told  glowingly 
of  the  dinner,  and  in  every  other  paper  of  value 
there  was  a  mention  large  or  small.  None  of 
them  neglected  her.  Gotham  reprinted  her  pic- 
ture, too,  and  made  a  special  feature  of  the  odd 
discussion  of  love,  seeming  to  regard  the  snap 
debate  as  the  most  original  feature  of  the  pro- 
gramme. 

"  It  may  be  expected  hereafter,"  he  wrote,  "  that 
an  academic  entree  will  be  a  fixture  at  all  private 
banquets  —  certainly  Miss  Cameron  has  suggested 
a  charming  relief  to  the  vapid  intercourse  of  the 
average  dinner." 

Her  heart  bounded  at  the  recognition;  the  list 
of  names,  too,  grew  so  imposing  in  type  that  she 
pictured  their  impression  on  the  public.  She  read 
them  over  to  herself,  she  read  them  over  to  Edith, 
and  she  took  particular  malice  in  retailing  them 
to  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  You  see,  auntie,"  she  remarked,  solemnly,  "  if 
you  had  not  deserted  us,  your  name  would  have 
been  there,  too,  instead  of  figuring  merely  as  the 
owner  of  the  house." 

"  I  have  neither  entertained  nor  been  enter- 
236 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

tained  since  your  uncle  died,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert, 
composedly.    "  It  is  too  late  to  resume." 

To  Mrs.  Jewett  Beatrice  sent  a  typical  note. 
"  Congratulate  me,"  it  ran,  "  and  come  to  lunch. 
We  are  marching  on!  " 


237 


CHAPTER   X. 

T^vURING  the  next  few  days  Beatrice  kept 
j  J  herself  as  much  in  evidence  as  possible  by 
"^~"*^  attending  the  flower  shows,  art  exhibits, 
and  concerts  that  had  the  social  endorsement,  and 
it  pleased  her  to  see  that  the  reporters  had  begun 
to  note  her  movements.  Then  she  had  a  card  to 
Mrs.  Thompson's  musicale,  was  a  member  of  the 
tri-monthly  Roberts  box  party,  and  under  Mrs. 
Atherton's  patronage  made  a  small  sensation  at 
the  Westchester  Hunt  ball.  She  used  these  oppor- 
tunities to  the  fullest  advantage.  One  acquaint- 
ance after  another  was  won,  until  the  roll 
impressed  even  Mrs.  Jewett. 

During  this  week  of  proselyting  some  dismal 
stories  came  to  Beatrice  regarding  Holt.  He  had 
made  a  commotion  at  a  bachelors'  dinner,  he  had 
created  a  scene  in  an  up-town  cafe,  and  had  at- 
tacked Layton  in  the  lobby  of  Daly's.  Of  the 
budget  of  rumours  she  believed  just  one  —  the 
assault  on  Layton  —  and  she  preferred  this  be- 
cause it  amused  her.  Why  he  remained  away  from 
238 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  Lambert  house,  she  could  not  determine,  ex- 
cept on  the  ground  that  he  wished  to  spare  her 
aunt  an  exhibition. 

Therefore,  when  one  morning  she  received  his 
card,  she  awaited  him  in  the  belief  that  he  had 
regained  his  poise,  or  he  would  not  be  there. 
When  she  saw  him  she  believed  everything  she 
had  heard ;  he  was  an  object  to  vindicate  rumour. 
His  face  bore  traces  of  dissipation,  and  even  in 
dress  he  helped  the  gossips  to  make  out  their  case. 
Beatrice  stared  at  him  with  disgust. 

"You  look  wretched,"  she  gasped;  "what  in 
the  world  have  you  done?  " 

He  drew  himself  up  stiffly.  "  I  have  been 
trying  to  forget  that  I  was  a  missionary,"  he 
answered,  with  cutting  bitterness.  "  I  recovered 
this  morning,  and  I  am  here  to  learn  whether  the 
relapse  is  to  become  permanent." 

"  I  think  you  play  a  very  ignoble  part,"  said 
Beatrice,  coldly. 

"  No  doubt.  I  have  been  using  your  receipt, 
you  know;  you  despise  me  when  I  am  sober, 
Beatrice,  and  the  other  is  relief.  Or  do  you 
despise  me,"  he  asked,  with  sudden,  straining 
eagerness,  "  do  you  really  believe  me  contempti- 
ble, or  have  I  dignified  mere  petulance?  Say  that 
I  have,"  he  burst  out,  "  say  that  I  am  mistaken. 

239 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Tell  me  that  I  have  been  a  fool,  a  weakling,  but 
for  God's  sake,  tell  me  that  I  misunderstood." 

Beatrice  looked  him  over  slowly.  He  was  not 
a  pleasant  analysis.  The  trembling  hands,  the 
weak  mouth,  an  aspect  of  cringing  —  so  far  from 
winning  pity,  his  attitude  annoyed  her  and 
hatched  a  desire  to  confirm  his  woe.  She  knew 
she  should  temporise,  should  maintain  an  entente, 
no  matter  how  false  or  gauzy,  but  the  call  of 
temper  was  hard  to  resist.  She  had  always  dis- 
liked Holt,  and  she  felt  now  she  would  like  to 
tell  him  exactly  how  much  he  fell  short  of  her 
approval.  It  would  have  pleased  her  more  had 
he  kept  his  original  note  of  defiance. 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  have  misunderstood 
me,"  she  said,  tersely;  "  maybe  you  misunderstood 
in  the  first  place."  She  had  no  idea  of  nursing 
his  delusions. 

The  thrust  seemed  to  startle  him. 

"  You  can't  mean  that,"  he  said,  with  a  strange 
stare,  "  that  would  be  too  cruel.  It  would  make 
of  every  pretty  speech  an  abominable  lie.  I  will 
not  believe  it.  My  discredit  dates  from  the 
dinner.  How?  Why?  Give  me  a  chance  to 
explain." 

"  You  know  what  I  meant  by  missionary?  " 

"  I  presume  it  was  to  flout  my  unworldliness. 
240 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

If  you  only  knew,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  "  how 
ready  I  am  to  become  whatever  you  will,  you 
would  forgive  me  that." 

"If  your  religious  spirit  offends  me,  you  will 
cast  it  out ;  is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Beatrice  flushed  darkly;  the  feeble  cord  of 
prudence  snapped. 

'  Your  thought  is  detestable,"  she  cried. 
"  Why  you  imagine  religion  may  not  live  in  my 
atmosphere,  I  do  not  know.  My  remark  had  to 
do  solely  with  the  mission  you  took  for  my  aunt. 
It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  I  realised  your 
role  from  the  first." 

Holt  looked  dumbfounded. 

"  It  is  all  of  a  piece  with  your  training  to  take 
advantage  of  my  aunt's  sentiment,"  she  rattled 
on,  bitterly.  "  I  never  knew  a  religious  poseur  in 
my  life  who  wouldn't  put  a  trickster  to  blush  when 
there  was  a  money  prize.  I  am  ready  to  admit 
one  point  in  your  favour.  I  believe  Mrs.  Lambert 
urged  the  enterprise.  Possibly  she  thought  the 
advantage  would  be  mutual,  but  the  only  result 
has  been  to  force  me  to  maintain  unreal  senti- 
ment. If  I  offended  you,  I  offended  her.  Had 
you  been  manly,  you  would  have  scorned  the  lever 
of  a  relative's  patronage." 

241 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me?  "  stammered  Holt, 
weakly. 

"  It  was  not  my  place  to  teach  you  chivalry. 
You  knew  all  the  time  that  my  aunt  was  interested 
in  you  and  that  her  interest  protected  your  suit. 
Why,  even  had  I  loved,  such  intrigue  would  have 
killed  affection." 

"  You  might  have  told  me,"  he  repeated,  cling- 
ing to  a  defensive  reproach;  "you  might  have 
saved  me  from  hope.  It  would  have  been  kinder 
than  this;  I  had  no  wish  to  be  oppressive." 

"  Your  own  deceit  excuses  me,"  said  Beatrice, 
crisply.  "  Heaven  knows,"  she  added,  with  a 
little  tantalising  laugh,  "  I  have  wanted  to  give 
you  my  opinion  often  enough.  Your  alliance  with 
auntie  reacted  on  yourself.  I  dared  not  speak. 
I  should  not  be  frank  now,  I  suppose,  but  you 
see,  Philip,  your  course  is  more  than  I  can  endure. 
I  confess  had  I  been  a  little  cooler  at  the  dinner 
I  should  not  have  spoken,  but  now  —  well,  you 
understand,  and  I  hope  it  will  bring  me  relief. 
It  is  even  possible  that  we  may  be  what  we  have 
never  been  —  friends." 

As  she  finished  speaking  Beatrice  turned,  and, 

walking  over  to  the  window,  looked  out.     She 

seemed  indifferent  and  weary.    Holt,  confounded 

by  her  reproaches,  stood  vainly  seeking  a  reply. 

242 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

He  felt  all  the  awkwardness  of  his  position.  He 
dared  not  justify  himself  because  that  was  dis- 
credit —  not  for  himself  alone,  but  for  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert. And  would  it  be  justification  even  if  he 
told  all?  Was  it  vindication  to  deny  seeking 
fortune,  but  to  admit  that  the  original  plan  was 
reform?  Decidedly  not  —  not,  at  least,  with 
Beatrice.  If  anything,  the  idea  that  her  morals 
needed  rescue  would  inflame  her  more  than  the 
first  delusion.  Besides,  no  matter  what  his  profit 
in  confession,  he  was  bound  to  protect  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert. Had  she  not,  indeed,  warned  him  against 
just  what  had  happened?  So  he  stood,  conscious 
that  Beatrice's  deduction  painted  him  a  schemer, 
yet  shorn  of  defence  and  loving  her  as  he 
loved  neither  his  life  nor  religion.  In  his 
restraint  lay  the  sting.  He  must  go  away,  and 
he  might  say  no  single  thing  that  could  prove  his 
passion,  that  might  show  its  honesty,  or  that  could 
serve  to  assist  Mrs.  Lambert.  Mere  protest  would 
not  move  Beatrice  an  inch,  nor  was  Mrs.  Lambert 
to  be  guarded  by  showing  her  own  effort  to  drag 
him  back;  denial  was  as  useless  as  argument. 
He  made  no  effort  at  an  answer,  he  did  not  even 
say  good-bye;  he  turned,  and,  without  a  look 
behind  him,  walked  from  the  room.  Beatrice 
watched  him  going  off  down  the  street,  just  as 

243 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

she  had  watched  that  other  time  when  he  had 
been  happy  in  hope,  and  so  little  did  the  pathos 
of  his  exit  impress  her  that  she  actually  felt  relief. 
There  was  something  physical  in  her  antipathy  to 
Holt,  and  the  outbreak  brought  content. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  as  she  turned  away,  "  now 
for  more  trouble  with  Mrs.  Lambert." 

But  there  was  no  conflict  with  Mrs.  Lambert; 
there  was  not  even  evidence  that  she  knew  of 
Holt's  dismissal.  One  day  ran  into  another,  and, 
as  she  made  no  sign,  Beatrice  felt  a  small  doubt 
of  her  analysis. 

"  It  cannot  be  that  I  am  mistaken,"  she  re- 
flected ;  "  this  silence  is  certainly  odd.  But  why 
did  auntie  give  me  the  house?  Holt,  of  course. 
He  is  more  manly  than  I  expected,  that's  all." 

But  if  Mrs.  Lambert  gave  no  sign,  Holt  sup- 
plied an  abundance.  The  reports  of  his  mis- 
conduct began  again  with  variations.  He  was 
drinking,  and  his  penchant  for  disorder  in  public 
places  seemed  to  have  become  a  habit.  What  he 
said  during  these  scenes  Beatrice  could  not  learn, 
but  the  possibilities  made  her  uneasy.  Ordinarily, 
to  have  a  man  of  Holt's  class  crying  his  repulse 
would  have  appealed  to  her  as  advertising,  but 
she  was  afraid  something  would  reach  Mrs. 
Lambert  and  end  her  concession.  After  Holt's 
244 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

exit  she  had  resigned  herself  to  this,  but  with  the 
lapse  of  time  and  the  absence  of  hostile  signs 
hope  revived. 

Once  only  did  she  herself  come  in  contact  with 
Holt,  and  while  the  meeting  was  incidental,  it  lay 
on  her  memory.  She  had  been  out  shopping  with 
Mrs.  Jewett,  and  was  seated  alone  in  her  carriage 
waiting  her  companion's  return  from  a  store,  when 
the  window  darkened,  and  Holt's  face  and  shoul- 
ders filled  the  opening,  —  a  vision  of  relapse. 
Pale,  red  of  eye,  and  with  disordered  toilet,  he 
embodied  an  accusation.  She  recoiled,  and  he 
laughed. 

"  Nice  sight,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  sneered.  "  Monu- 
ment to  your  coquetry;  next  tenant  of  your 
private  graveyard." 

Beatrice  flushed  angrily. 

"  Who's  my  successor  ?  "  he  asked,  coarsely. 
"  Do  you  know,  you  have  no  idea  what  a  blessing 
this  drink  is,"  he  added,  with  a  quick  switch  of 
vindictiveness.  "  I  can't  tell  how  much  I  owe 
you  for  making  me  know  its  soothing  qualities. 
It  is  not  every  viper  that  provides  its  victims  with 
an  antidote,"  —  and  then,  before  he  could  say 
more,  the  high,  cheery  voice  of  Mrs.  Jewett 
sounded  behind  him,  and  he  turned  with  a  bow. 

"  No,  I  am  not  feeling  well,"  Beatrice  heard 

245 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

him  saying.  "  Heartburn  from  smoking  poppy 
leaves.  One  must  pay  for  these  artificial  visions, 
you  know." 

Beatrice  moved  to  the  far  corner  of  the  car- 
riage ;  she  had  no  appetite  for  post-mortem  satire 
on  dead  loves.  There  was  some  further  chatter 
outside ;  then  Mrs.  Jewett  entered,  waved  an  adieu 
to  Holt,  and  the  vehicle  moved  off.  Beatrice  was 
sulky  and  nervous. 

"  Well,"  observed  her  companion,  sweetly,  "  it 
must  be  admitted  that  you  do  your  work  thor- 
oughly, Bab." 

"  Don't  be  ugly,  Alice." 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Bab,  I  don't  care,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Jewett.  "It  is  not  my  place  to  champion 
these  men.  I  think  myself  he  is  an  unappealing 
specimen." 

Mrs.  Lambert  was  heard  from  finally.  She 
came  into  Beatrice's  sitting-room  one  day  with 
an  air  of  investigation. 

"  Have  you  seen  Philip  lately  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  No,"  replied  Beatrice,  easily.  "  Not  for  sev- 
eral weeks." 

"Why  has  he  absented  himself?"  continued 
Mrs.  Lambert,  suspiciously. 

"  I   don't  know ;    possibly  I  was  rather  dis- 


246 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

couraging  the  last  time  he  proposed.  I  think  it 
was  the  third  time." 

"  That  explains  his  drinking,"  said  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert, slowly.  "  I  hear  he  is  proving  an  apt  pupil 
of  yours." 

Beatrice  declined  to  answer.  Mrs.  Lambert 
stood  watching  her  for  some  seconds.  It  was 
evident  that  she  hung  on  the  point  of  an  outburst, 
but  her  natural  timidity  asserted  itself,  and  to 
Beatrice's  joy  she  left  the  room. 

During  the  next  few  days  the  household's  only 
news  of  Holt  came  through  drifting  rumours. 
Their  colour  was  uniformly  drab.  Layton  volun- 
teered some  data,  but  found  Beatrice  indifferent, 
so  he  carried  it  to  Mrs.  Lambert.  He  knew,  as 
did  every  one,  that  she  had  a  lively  interest  in 
Holt's  concerns,  and  he  hoped  that  his  facts  might 
discredit  the  protege.  He  had  not  forgotten  his 
beating. 

One  night  after  a  particularly  heavy  domestic 
meeting,  an  evening  of  books,  and  whist,  with 
Mrs.  Lambert  gloomy  and  Edith  restrained,  Bea- 
trice wandered  into  her  sister's  dressing-room 
and  tried  to  strike  a  spark  of  cheerfulness.  She 
found  Edith  still  muffled  in  the  reserve  that  had 
marked  her  manner  ever  since  the  Trexler  episode, 
and  she  put  forth  special  efforts  to  learn  its  com- 

247 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

pass.  She  had  no  interest  in  "  bringing  Edith 
around,"  as  she  termed  it,  but  this  resentment  in 
a  person  wholly  outside  the  tragedy  gave  her 
something  to  probe.  Edith's  dressing-room  was 
the  last  of  the  double  suite  occupied  by  the  two 
girls,  and  one  of  its  doors  opened  on  the  passage, 
which  ran  half  the  length  of  the  floor  and  ended 
in  the  stairs.  The  night  was  fog-draped  and 
close,  and,  while  they  chatted,  Edith  swung  the 
door  wide  to  assist  a  lazy  ventilation.  It  was 
oddly  quiet  in  the  house,  and  as  Edith  glanced 
down  the  dark  corridor  she  heard  the  murmur  of 
voices,  coming  apparently  from  the  first  floor. 
She  supposed  it  was  Mrs.  Lambert  giving  last 
directions  to  the  butler,  and  smiled  at  her  dili- 
gence. 

She  had  hardly  turned  away,  when  from  some- 
where in  the  black  depths  of  the  lower  floor  the 
sound  of  a  dreadful  crash  echoed  through  the 
house;  there  was  the  tinkle  of  shattered  glass, 
and  on  its  heels  a  scream,  wild,  savage,  and 
prolonged,  —  a  shriek  like  the  cry  of  a  man  in 
torture.  Then  came  broken  sounds  of  a  struggle, 
the  violent  opening  and  shutting  of  doors,  and 
again  silence.  Both  girls  hung  in  the  clutch  of 
instant  horror.  They  stood  looking  at  each  other 
fearfully,  listening  and  waiting. 
248 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"My  God,"  gasped  Beatrice,  "what  is  it? 
See,  Edith,  see  —  go  to  the  door !  " 

Edith  obeyed  bravely.  She  was  starting  down 
the  corridor,  forbidding  now  as  the  path  to  mys- 
tery, when  she  heard  on  the  stairs  the  patter  of 
hurrying  feet.  She  stopped  in  dread.  The  racing 
steps  passed  the  first  landing,  beat  up  the  second, 
a  white  gown  glimmered  suddenly  at  the  end  of 
the  passage,  and,  almost  before  she  could  step 
aside,  Mrs.  Lambert  dashed  by  her  and  was  into 
the  room.  Her  face  was  white,  and  her  eyes  had 
in  them  a  look  to  match  the  dreadful  cry  that  had 
rung  up  from  below;  there  were  scars  and 
blotches  on  her  hands,  and  her  gown  showed  a 
rent  that  ran  from  shoulder  to  waist.  She  halted 
in  front  of  Beatrice,  and  one  hand  shot  out  in  a 
clutch  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 

"  Come  with  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "  come  with 
me.  You  shall  look  on  a  piece  of  your  handiwork 
that  will  give  you  pride  and  encouragement. 
Come,  and  write  '  finished  '  on  your  triumph !  " 
she  cried,  wildly. 

Beatrice  shook  herself  free. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  such  conduct  ?  "  she 
stammered.  "I  will  go  nowhere;  you  are  de- 
lirious. Edith,  send  for  the  butler." 


249 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

With  a  quick  motion  the  elder  woman  grasped 
Beatrice  by  both  arms,  and  shook  her  savagely. 

"  You  will  come,"  she  cried,  furiously.  "  You 
will  come  if  I  have  to  drag  you  every  step  of  the 
way.  He  is  waiting  for  you,  and  you  shall  see 
him ;  you  are  too  modest  to  claim  your  credit." 

Edith  interposed  hurriedly.  "  Stop,  auntie," 
she  pleaded,  "  stop ;  you  forget  what  you  are 
doing.  Beatrice,  go  with  auntie,  and  I  will  go 
with  you." 

In  a  flash  of  intuition  Beatrice  saw  Edith's 
drift.  She  was  soothing  her  aunt  —  her  aunt 
was  demented ;  it  was  a  lightning  stroke  of  aber- 
ration. Something  had  happened;  Beatrice 
changed  front  in  an  instant. 

"  I  will  go  anywhere  auntie  wishes,"  she  said, 
quickly,  "  if  she  will  cease  this  violence.  Release 
my  arms,"  she  continued,  addressing  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert, "  and  I  will  follow  you  at  once."  Mrs. 
Lambert  complied;  then  without  another  word 
she  turned  and  walked  from  the  room,  and  the 
two  girls  followed.  Down  the  stairs  she  led  the 
way,  and  along  the  hall  to  the  little  library  and 
writing-room,  where  an  hour  before  they  had  left 
her  at  her  correspondence.  At  the  door  she  hesi- 
tated, then,  swinging  it  open  with  a  quick  move- 
ment, she  shoved  Beatrice  ahead  of  her  and  whis- 
250 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

pered,  "  Look,  and  be  satisfied ;  "  and  Beatrice 
looked,  and  the  thing  she  saw  brought  agony 
to  her  soul,  and  she  heard  Edith  behind  her  catch 
her  breath  with  a  gasp  of  pain.  Directly  before 
them  two  servants  held  down  on  one  of  the  great 
leather-covered  settees  the  struggling  form  of  a 
man.  His  eyes  wide  and  staring  saw  nothing; 
around  his  lips  bubbled  a  white  rime  of  froth.  It 
was  Philip  Holt.  One  hand  held  the  broken  frag- 
ments of  a  photograph,  and  with  the  other  he 
battled  steadily  against  his  captors.  Around  the 
room  was  the  evidence  of  a  madman's  wreckage. 
The  great  glass  front  of  the  writing-cabinet  had 
been  smashed  in,  and  a  broken  chair  told  of  the 
demolishing  blow.  Here  and  there  were  pieces 
of  overturned  furniture,  and  dozens  of  books  were 
scattered  on  every  hand. 

At  intervals  the  figure  on  the  settee  heaved 
itself  up  in  rebellion;  there  would  be  a  sharp 
struggle,  and  he  would  sink  back  again.  The 
absence  of  any  sound,  save  the  gasps  of  the  com- 
batants, made  these  efforts  more  terrible  to  view 
than  the  clamour  of  a  greater  violence ;  they  held 
the  little  group  with  a  dread  fascination. 

On  their  entrance,  one  of  the  captors  had 
looked  qver  anxiously  at  Mrs.  Lambert. 


251 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  hope  the  ambulance  is  coming  soon,  ma'am ; 
he  is  getting  very  hard  to  hold." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  telephoned  the 
hospital.  They  promised  to  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes.  Before  they  take  him  away,  William, 
we  must  secure  that  photograph."  She  moved 
up  close  behind  Beatrice,  and  began  whispering 
in  her  ear. 

"  Look  at  the  result  of  your  coquetry,"  she 
hissed,  softly ;  "  it  is  the  end  of  a  weak,  incapable 
soul;  of  a  man  who  needed  only  kindness  to 
survive  even  contact  with  you.  But  you  preferred 
the  cruelty  of  a  conqueror.  The  hand  that  should 
have  guided  him  from  disaster  knifed  his  man- 
hood and  slew  his  spirit.  I  feared  it.  I  warned 
him,  but  I  did  not  believe  even  you  could  cremate 
a  soul  to  see  the  sparks  fly.  I  did  not  believe  it." 

She  halted  a  moment  and  was  silent,  watching 
with  painful  intentness  every  move  of  the  labour- 
ing figures.  Then  the  even,  monotonous  hissing 
began  afresh. 

"  Those  who  live  by  the  sword  shall  die  by  the 
sword.  You  can  let  this  warn  you,  or  you  can  go 
on  until  God  bids  you  halt.  Philip  came  to  me 
to-night  wrecked  and  broken.  The  mere  mention 
of  your  name  drove  him  mad.  That  desk  was 
destroyed  that  he  might  get  from  it  —  what  ? 
252 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Your  photograph.  It  was  the  same  I  showed 
him  as  an  introduction.  That  is  it  in  his  hand 
—  oh !  look  out,  William,  hold  him,  but  don't  hurt 
him  —  don't  hurt  him,  William !  " 

"  I  think  I  hear  the  ambulance  bell,  ma'am ; 
tell  them  to  hurry,  please  —  he  is  getting  worse 
every  minute,  ma'am." 

The  metallic  echo  of  a  gong  floated  into  the 
room.  Mrs.  Lambert  tapped  Beatrice  on  the 
shoulder.  "  Come,"  she  said,  "  you  must  go 
now ;  "  she  marched  to  the  door,  "  by  to-morrow 
night  I  want  you  and  your  last  scrap  of  baggage 
out  of  the  house.  Edith,"  she  added,  kindly,  "  you 
had  better  go  to  your  room.  Forgive  me  for 
bringing  you  here.  I  let  you  come,  because  I 
did  not  intend  this  woman  should  escape  what 
she  has  seen.  She  would  not  come  without  you." 
They  passed  out  mechanically  —  Beatrice  stony- 
faced  and  hard-eyed ;  Edith  with  tears  glistening 
on  her  cheeks.  Mrs.  Lambert  watched  them 
calmly. 

They  stumbled  up  the  stairs  and  back  again  to 
the  brilliantly  lighted  room  from  which  they  had 
come.  Beatrice  flung  herself  wearily  into  a  chair. 

"  I  leave  it  to  you,  Edith,"  she  said,  theatric- 
ally, "  if  you  ever  listened  to  such  absolute  non- 
sense in  all  your  life.  Mrs.  Lambert  is  "  —  but 

253 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  with  neither  word  nor  look  passed  on  into 
the  adjoining  room,  and  Beatrice  heard  the  snap- 
ping of  a  lock. 

The  next  morning  the  maid  knocked  at  Edith's 
door  and  brought  breakfast.  With  the  breakfast 
was  a  note.  The  agitated  writing  marked  its 
author. 

"  I  had  intended  seeing  you,"  it  ran,  "  but 
I  cannot  bring  myself  to  the  task.  I  fear  to 
encounter  Beatrice,  too,  for  while  I  wish  to  be 
charitable,  I  hope  that  I  may  never  lay  eyes  on  her 
again.  She  must  leave  the  house  at  once.  I  could 
not  endure  her  presence  another  day,  and  the 
thought  that  she  is  here  now  agitates  me  beyond 
measure.  When  she  goes  she  takes  with  her  the 
remnants  of  peace  and  joy  left  in  my  life  since 
your  uncle's  death.  You  did  not  know  my  boy, 
—  my  sweet-souled  boy ;  you  did  not  see  him 
crumble  under  her  blasting  touch  from  a  manly 
spirit  to  the  wreck  of  last  night,  and  you  did  not 
understand  how  I  had  taken  him  into  my  lonely 
life  —  if  you  had  felt  any  one  of  these  things, 
you  would  appreciate  my  bitterness,  and  the  re- 
proach that  is  my  portion.  If  only  she  had  been 
kind  —  not  loving  —  but  kind  merely !  Of 
course,  you  will  go  with  her;  I  could  expect 
254 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

nothing  else,  although  I  know  your  character  well 
enough  to  believe  that  she  is  a  constant  cross.  I 
am  not  sure,  indeed,  but  that  you  have  a  mission 
before  you  to  save  this  woman  from  the  crimes  of 
her  vanity,  and  in  saving  her  to  protect  society. 
I  see  no  one  else  by  whom  this  may  be  done. 
Stay  by  her,  labour  with  her  —  in  time  a  change 
may  come.  If  not,  she  will  go  through  the  world 
leaving  behind  her  a  trail  of  sorrow.  Of  Mrs. 
Jewett  I  can  say  nothing.  I  believe  that  Beatrice's 
conduct  has  had  the  singular  result  of  disgusting 
her,  and  when  her  ambition  has  been  gratified, 
you  may  find  in  her  a  valuable  ally.  At  any  rate, 
I  do  not  believe  her  influence  has  been  for  bad. 
Good-bye,  and  forgive  me  for  not  seeing  you. 

"  AUNT  LYDIA." 

All  night  long  Edith  had  remained  awake  in  a 
passion  of  horror  and  regret.  The  double  shock 
of  Trexler's  death  and  Holt's  fall  were  as  brand- 
ing-irons of  reproach.  She  felt  responsibility  and 
a  sense  of  neglect  that  she  whose  days  were  given 
to  good  had  failed  to  halt  the  evil  at  her  elbow. 
Money  had  been  spent  and  labour  given  to  purify- 
ing other  atmospheres,  while  here  at  home  a 
noxious  blossom  poisoned  the  air.  Had  she  done 
her  best  to  stay  its  growth  —  had  she  done  any- 

255 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

thing  at  all  but  stand  by  and  sigh  regrets? 
Could  she  do  anything?  Was  it  certain  that  her 
influence  over  Beatrice  was  altogether  useless? 
She  did  not  know,  and  therein  lay  her  censure. 
She  should  have  tried,  and  if  one  avenue  closed, 
then  another  should  have  been  opened  until  an 
approach  to  Beatrice's  conscience  enabled  her  to 
work.  She  would  try.  In  the  end,  if  it  were 
failure,  then  even  this  would  be  sweeter  than 
neglect. 

Between  midnight  and  morning  something  in 
her  nature  had  been  killed,  but  something  too 
had  been  gained.  Her  aunt's  letter  clinched  the 
nail  of  resolve. 

To  Beatrice,  too,  had  come  breakfast  and  a 
message  —  only  verbal. 

Lucy  arranged  the  meal  with  exactness,  then 
made  a  sweeping  curtsy. 

"  Miss  Beatrice,"  she  said,  deferentially, 
"  Missus  told  me  I  was  to  help  you  pack  up." 

Beatrice  looked  at  her  strangely.  The  girl's 
speech  was  proof  of  her  aunt's  determination. 
Mrs.  Lambert  had  meant  what  she  said.  Bea- 
trice's hope  of  pardon  vanished. 

"  I  do  not  need  your  help,"  she  said,  angrily, 
"  and  you  will  please  leave  the  room."  Lucy 
paled  and  fled.  Beatrice  heard  Edith's  door  click, 
256 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  in  another  moment  she  was  in  the  room.  Her 
face  was  worn,  but  a  calm  curtained  its  unrest. 
She  smiled  on  Beatrice  sweetly. 

"  Sister,"  she  said,  "  auntie  has  asked  us  to 
leave  the  house,  and  I  think  the  sooner  we  go,  the 
easier  we  make  it  both  for  her  and  ourselves.  If 
I  can  assist  you  in  any  way,  let  me  know.  I 
shall  be  through  with  my  own  work  in  an  hour." 
Beatrice  looked  at  her  in  sullen  surprise.  She  had 
prepared  for  a  different  encounter. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  you  had  been  ordered 
out,"  she  said,  suspiciously;  "  I  did  not  hear  it." 

"  Neither  was  I,"  answered  Edith,  simply, 
"  but  you  are  my  sister." 

Beatrice  was  embarrassed.  She  ate  stolidly. 
Her  appetite  had  not  suffered  over  night.  Edith 
took  a  seat  with  an  air  of  friendliness,  and 
watched  her.  It  was  more  than  Beatrice  could 
endure. 

"  Edith,"  she  said,  laying  down  her  fork,  "  you 
snapped  your  door  in  my  face,  and  now  —  you 
are  not  consistent." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Beatrice,  I  do  not  want  to  quarrel. 
I  think  we  have  been  growing  apart.  This  dread- 
ful affair  should  bring  us  to  see  our  responsi- 
bilities." 

"  Mine,  yes,  but  not  yours ;  you  are  not  inter- 

257 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

ested.  Neither  am  I  particularly.  It  is  going 
to  interrupt  my  social  work,  that  is  all.  If  you 
are  here  to  point  a  moral,  Edith,  as  I  suspect, 
your  visit  will  not  be  welcome."  She  looked  at 
her  sister  coldly.  Edith  felt  her  resolves  take 
phantom  shapes. 

"  You  are  best  acquainted  with  your  con- 
science," she  said,  struggling  bravely ;  "  I  do  not 
believe  you  realise  the  harm  you  do,  sister.  I 
merely  pray  that  your  generosity  guide  you.  If 
coquetry  has  such  terrible  results,  you  should 
refuse  to  practise  it." 

"  I  am  not  a  coquette,"  answered  Beatrice.  "  I 
treat  a  man  pleasantly,  and  he  —  If  I  acted  other- 
wise I  should  be  called  a  boor." 

"  Your  power  should  be  used  to  inspire,  not 
as  a  blight.  If  a  man  delivers  you  his  love,  yours 
is  a  sacred  trust." 

"  Edith,"  replied  Beatrice,  patiently,  "  I  use 
these  men  as  social  agents.  I  am  not  serious 
myself,  and  they  have  no  right  to  be." 

"  Not  serious,"  repeated  Edith,  sadly,  "  not 
serious  when  you  see  two  men  slain  —  as  surely 
slain  as  —  "  she  paused  with  a  catch  in  her  throat, 
and  at  the  same  time  Beatrice's  hands  flew  to  her 
face  and  her  body  shook  with  sobs.  Edith  gazed 
in  dismay.  She  had  never  seen  Beatrice  cry, 
258 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  the  sudden  lapse  filled  her  with  pity.  She 
slipped  around  the  table  and  touched  Beatrice's 
shoulder. 

"  Rebuke  is  not  needed  when  you  yourself  see 
the  peril,"  she  whispered,  "  forgive  me."  The 
caress  seemed  to  sting  Beatrice.  Her  sobs  ceased, 
and  she  looked  up  chill  and  resentful. 

"  You  have  done  very  well  with  your  little 
sermonette,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  been  patient. 
I  will  hear  no  more.  Let  us  talk  of  our  de- 
parture." 

"  Very  well." 

"  We  will  go  to  Mrs.  Jewett,  and  if  you  want 
to  arouse  the  generosity  of  which  you  spoke  look 
after  the  packing  while  I  pick  out  a  suite." 

Edith,  as  soon  as  possible,  escaped  to  her  room. 
She  felt  her  repulse  keenly,  but  it  did  not  lessen 
her  resolve.  What  worried  her  most  was  the 
poverty  of  her  method.  She  did  not  know  how  to 
handle  Beatrice,  and  it  was  a  question  whether 
she  would  learn.  The  hardest  task  was  to  combat 
her  satire,  to  meet  that  callousness  which  proved 
so  great  a  barrier.  To  her  fainting  spirit  she 
applied  the  restorative  of  Thomas  a  Kempis. 
The  sombre,  morocco  volume  .was  her  daily  study. 
She  read  one  of  the  many  sermons  of  faith,  and 
the  old  monk  seemed  to  speak  to  her,  to  infuse 

259 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

her  with  the  uplifting  note  which  he  struck  in 
every  message. 

But  even  as  she  felt  its  power  she  realised  the 
task  of  opposing  selfishness  with  spiritual 
weapons,  for  selfishness  is  a  part  of  nature,  and 
with  Beatrice  it  was  a  large  part.  She  must  try 
to  subdue  her  vanity,  to  control  it,  and  despite  her 
fierce  desire  she  sighed  at  the  outlook. 

They  left  the  house  that  evening.  Departure 
had  been  made  easy.  Every  servant  in  the  place, 
acting  apparently  under  orders,  had  bent  their 
efforts  toward  speeding  the  guests.  Of  Mrs. 
Lambert  nothing  was  to  be  seen.  Edith  made  no 
attempt  to  find  her,  because  she  feared  the  offence 
to  Beatrice,  so  when  the  door  closed  it  was  to  the 
farewell  of  the  butler. 

Edith  was  greatly  depressed  as  the  carriage 
rolled  away,  and  Beatrice  tried  to  cheer  her. 

"  Every  sorrow  has  its  compensation,"  she 
said ;  "  at  least  there  will  be  no  more  scenes. 
Although,  I  admit,"  she  added,  gravely,  "  it  is  a 
serious  blow  to  my  plans." 

They  had  a  lively  dinner  at  the  hotel  that 
night  —  at  least  a  dinner  two-thirds  lively  — 
Edith  being  the  minority  third.  And  she  tried 
hard  to  be  otherwise,  too,  for  she  knew  that  if 
Beatrice  was  ever  to  be  reached,  it  must  be 
260 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

through  sympathy  and  not  righteous  opposition. 
But  she  had  not  the  aid  of  champagne,  and  she 
felt  strange  and  lonely  in  the  exile  of  a  hotel. 
Mrs.  Jevvett  shielded  her  all  she  could. 

"  Don't  you  talk  at  all,  Edith,  dear,"  she  said. 
"  You  look  completely  worn  out,  and  I  don't 
blame  you,  either,  for  I  think  your  aunt  acted  very 
hastily.  After  dinner  we  will  consider  the  future." 

And  after  dinner  they  did  —  quite  a  formal 
conference  it  was,  with  Mrs.  Jewett  as  presiding 
officer. 

"  So  far  as  our  plans  go,"  she  said,  addressing 
Beatrice,  "  this  matter  need  prove  no  interruption 
at  all.  You  know  my  country-house  scheme,  and 
as  spring  is  coming  on,  it  was  about  time  for  you 
to  move  anyhow.  I  have  an  option  on  the  lease  of 
what  I  believe  the  grandest  country  home  any- 
where south  of  Newport.  It  is  on  the  Sound, 
within  an  hour  of  New  York,  and  it  is  ample  for 
any  purpose.  You  can  entertain  a  score  or  two 
at  a  time,  and  the  grounds  —  well,  when  Edith 
sees  them  I  know  she  will  say  I  have  found  a 
Paradise.  We  have  three  months  before  hot 
weather  sets  in,  and  it  may  pay  us  to  stay  right 
through  until  fall.  We  will  take  liberties  with 
Lent,  and  after  April  first  we  can  be  startling." 


261 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Can  you  get  any  one  to  go  to  such  a  place? 
So  far  off,  I  mean,"  Beatrice  asked,  vaguely. 

Mrs.  Jewett  laughed.  "  Indeed,  yes.  When 
we  are  well  under  way  I  expect  Mrs.  Thurston 
will  come.  To-morrow  we  shall  run  down  and 
look  it  over ;  and  you,  little  girl,"  she  added,  pat- 
ting Edith's  hand,  "  will  find  the  greatest  band 
of  poor  folks  in  Woods  Corner,  about  two  miles 
away,  that  ever  taxed  a  material  angel.  You 
won't  be  lonely  at  all." 

So  the  next  day,  while  Edith  arranged  for  an 
absence  from  her  charities,  Mrs.  Jewett  and 
Beatrice  left  New  York  to  look  over  the  property. 
They  came  back  in  the  evening,  tired  but  radiant. 

"  Alice  is  right,"  said  Beatrice,  joyfully,  "  it 
is  a  Paradise." 

"  And  not  so  far  from  the  shopping  district, 
either,"  added  Mrs.  Jewett. 


262 


CHAPTER    XI. 

/T  was  a  full  week  before  they  were  ready 
to  leave  New  York,  and  it  had  been  a  week 
of  activity.     Mrs.  Jewett  was  busy  getting 
automobiles  and  new  furniture;    Beatrice  nego- 
tiated the  lease,  and  Edith  hunted  up  a  house- 
keeper.    This  task  and  the  vast  shopping  opera- 
tions of  Mrs.  Jewett  did  much  to  keep  Edith's 
mind  in  the  balance  she  was  prone  to  lose  when 
she  looked  backward.     She  seized  every  chance 
for  activity. 

Mrs.  Jewett  spent  money  grandly.  She  sent 
down  three  car-loads  of  extra  furniture  and  kept 
decorators  at  her  elbow  five  hours  a  day.  Then 
she  went  on  to  see  that  her  ideas  prevailed.  Late 
on  Monday  afternoon  Beatrice  and  Edith  made  a 
formal  start  for  their  new  home.  Edith  watched 
the  metropolis  fade  from  view  with  elation.  The 
city's  shadow  made  of  the  fields  and  woods  a 
blessed  panorama.  The  estate  lay  on  the  edge 
of  the  Sound  near  Greenwich,  and  the  station  bore 
a  name  —  Excelsior  —  which  Mrs.  Jewett  de- 

263 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

clared  was  very  appropriate.  When  they  reached 
Excelsior  they  found  the  advance  agent  bubbling 
welcome.  An  automobile  wagonette  was  drawn 
up  by  the  platform,  and  while  the  maid  looked 
after  the  wraps,  Mrs.  Jewett  with  a  childlike  pride 
took  her  place  as  chauffeuse.  The  ride  over  the 
wide,  well-kept  road  put  the  trio  in  a  glow  of 
spirits.  There  was  the  chill  of  early  March  in 
the  air,  and  the  fields  were  stark;  yet  the  sense 
of  largeness,  the  height  and  breadth  of  the  out- 
look, was  in  itself  reviving. 

The  house  and  the  Sound  came  into  view  at 
the  same  time.  In  the  gloaming  the  waters  lay 
a  sea  of  quicksilver,  and  the  great  dwelling  sil- 
houetted against  the  light  in  the  east  with  every 
detail  in  relief.  They  saw  it  first  from  the  top 
of  a  hillock;  then  the  wagonette  ran  into  a  little 
valley,  and  when  they  mounted  again  it  stood 
before  them.  Just  as  they  made  the  rise  the  sun 
in  the  west  struck  a  flame  from  one  of  the  tower 
windows,  and  as  the  base  lay  shrouded  in  gloom, 
this  strange  fire  flared  out  aloft  like  the  shine  of 
a  giant  eye.  Edith  gazed  at  the  odd  appearance, 
and  a  chill  dissipated  her  spirits. 

Who  shall  say  what  is  intuition?  Who  shall 
sneer  at  that  subtle  essence  of  understanding  that 
with  some  rises  almost  to  the  importance  of  a 
264 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

sense?  When  she  saw  the  reflection  it  came  over 
Edith  as  an  omen,  a  signal  light  that  was  the 
more  ominous  because  it  flamed  in  opposition  to 
the  first  joy  she  had  felt  in  weeks. 

But  in  the  morning  Edith  awoke  to  a  world 
of  sunshine  and  of  flashing  waters.  Her  room  was 
a  splendid  apartment  overlooking  the  Sound,  and 
when  she  saw  the  wide  lane  of  water  with  its 
parading  marine  life,  she  fairly  clapped  her  hands 
in  applause.  She  watched  the  coming  and  going 
of  the  craft  until  breakfast,  the  prospect  banishing 
for  a  time  the  city's  burden  of  memory.  After 
the  meal  Mrs.  Jewett  took  her  on  a  tour  of  the 
house  and  premises.  The  elder  woman  as  sponsor 
had  a  set  pride  in  the  whole  estate,  and  Edith 
sought  to  please  her  by  praising  all  she  saw.  To 
do  this  was  no  effort  of  courtesy;  the  adjectives 
were  honest. 

"  I  want  you  to  view  the  house  from  the  out- 
side first,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  expectantly ;  "  you 
can  tell  me  then  if  you  ever  saw  such  a  variety 
of  architecture  in  one  mansion.  You  will  see 
no  less  than  seven  different  styles,  but  while  the 
effect  is  not  harmonious,  it  makes  for  comfort. 
Look  at  that  veranda,  Edith ;  it  runs  clear  around 
the  Sound  side.  There  are  three  balconies  over- 
looking the  water.  And  just  see  the  oriels,  bays, 

265 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  towers !  Why,  the  owner  must  have  changed 
the  place  every  few  months.  He  wanted  lots  of 
room  and  plenty  of  light.  Some  people  are 
insane  on  the  subject  of  light  in  houses,  you 
know." 

"  Was  there  no  wife  on  the  premises  ?  These 
octagonals  look  like  a  woman's  work,"  observed 
Edith. 

"  There  was,  and  her  death  is  the  reason  for 
our  being  here.  I  was  a  guest  of  Mrs.  Tailer, 
who  leased  it  two  seasons  ago,  and  it  has  im- 
pressed me  as  a  prize  place  for  entertaining. 
This  is  the  exploited  part  of  the  Sound  shore.  We 
have  villas  like  ours  right  and  left." 

"  Villas ! " 

"  Funny,  isn't  it  —  after  the  Newport  idea. 
We  only  lack  a  lodge.  We  should  have  a  nice 
little  red  lodge,  and  then  we  would  be  irreproach- 
able. Come  over  to  the  shore  for  the  star  feature ; 
then  we  will  tour  the  grounds." 

She  led  the  way  along  the  gravelled  walk,  until 
in  the  rear  of  the  house  they  came  on  a  great 
granite  stairway  that  ran  from  a  marble  plat- 
form down  to  the  water.  It  was  a  broad  and 
splendid  descent,  ending  in  a  little  pier,  which 
suggested  past  glories  of  yachting.  The  stair  was 
built  in  a  succession  of  terraces,  and  at  every 
266 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

landing  the  walls  bore  exquisite  carvings  of 
marine  scenes  and  yachting  devices.  Over  every 
inch  of  the  way  a  handsome  roof  of  Spanish 
copper  gave  protection. 

"  Wife  again,  I  guess,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
merrily,  "  fighting  sunburn.  I  knew  a  woman 
once  whose  face  looked  like  a  surveyor's  map  when 
Old  Sol  kissed  it.  We'll  have  a  boat  here  in 
season,"  she  continued,  as  they  reached  the  pier. 
"  I  am  going  to  hire  a  steam  yacht,  and  tie  it 
up  for  show.  I  believe  any  one  can  keep  a  steam 
yacht  if  they  tie  it  to  a  pier,  or  have  it  anchored 
regularly.  Let's  go  back  and  see  the  natural 
beauties." 

From  the  water  side  Mrs.  Jewett  and  Edith 
moved  off  to  view  the  display  which  the  estate 
furnished  inland.  They  explored  a  maze  of 
walks,  whose  tracing  covered  acres  of  cultivated 
grounds,  and  it  needed  small  imagination  to  guess 
that  in  summer  the  place  was  a  garden.  Even 
now,  with  its  nudity  of  colour,  and  with  a  raw 
wind  beginning  to  boom  out  of  the  west,  the 
scene  bred  in  Edith  a  serenity  of  mind  which  she 
cherished.  The  wide,  lawn-like  country,  the 
great  whispering  trees,  the  patches  of  forest,  and 
afar  off  the  glimpses  of  fields,  seemed  so  removed 
from  the  sordid  things  of  life  that  she  felt  as 

267 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

though  here  evil  could  never  enter  in.  In  this 
playground  of  nature  the  memories  of  the  city 
faded  away. 

The  first  half  of  Lent  was  given  to  preparing 
the  dwelling  for  visitors  and  to  building  an  electric 
plant.  Beatrice  had  been  a  firm  believer  in  incan- 
descents  ever  since  her  first  night  on  Broadway, 
and  as  sufficient  power  was  not  to  be  had  she 
arranged  to  get  her  own  power.  She  did  not 
wish  any  workmen  visible  when  the  guests  ar- 
rived, so  she  tripled  the  force,  and  hurried  them 
night  and  day.  In  just  two  weeks  a  dainty  little 
white  building  —  to  all  appearances  a  woodland 
casino  —  housed  dynamos  and  the  men  to  run 
them.  In  its  way  it  was  quite  a  minor  feat  of 
the  Aladdin  dollar,  and  she  did  not  neglect  to 
get  out  of  it  what  advertising  she  could.  Willie 
Gotham  from  his  desk  in  the  Age  office  helped 
her  along. 

The  first  instalment  of  guests  was  drawn  from 
the  dinner  list.  Layton,  the  Sloanes,  Mrs.  Rob- 
erts, Fairfax  Royer,  and  Willie  Gotham,  and  sev- 
eral others  straggled  in  one  after  the  other,  and 
each  arrival  was  made  an  excuse  for  some  fes- 
tivity. Beatrice  had  hoped  for  the  Sempleman 
girls  and  Mr.  Allison,  but  the  sisters  had  gone  to 
Asheville,  and  Allison  was  at  Palm  Beach. 
268 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Gotham  excited  a  special  demonstration.  There 
was  an  automobile  run,  a  state  dinner,  and  a  gay 
little  dance,  all  inspired,  as  Beatrice  said,  in  his 
behalf.  She  wanted  to  compel  obligation,  and 
Gotham,  who  knew  he  was  being  enslaved,  looked 
at  Beatrice's  face  and  was  glad  he  had  something 
to  give.  He  began  to  take  Beatrice  seriously. 

Edith  saw  the  invasion  with  regret.  There  had 
been  a  respite  from  the  sowing  of  passion-flowers, 
and  the  reappearance  of  the  cavaliers  worried 
her.  What  new  tragedy  was  to  find  here  its  seed 
and  blossom?  Which  of  these  men  was  to  tread 
in  the  footsteps  of  Trexler  and  of  Holt?  Several 
times  lately  Edith  had  dropped  significant  pleas 
and  little  sisterly  sermons,  but  she  had  done  so 
out  of  duty  and  with  no  real  idea  that  she  was 
having  effect.  The  same  old  ridicule  parried  her 
advances,  and  far  more  than  anger  withered  her 
zeal.  With  this  new  material  for  a  bonfire  at 
hand,  she  had  little  reason  to  hope  that  Beatrice 
would  not  apply  the  torch.  Had  Edith  been  better 
versed  in  country-house  entertaining,  she  would 
have  indulged  no  hope  at  all.  The  theory  of  the 
house  party  is  good.  The  theory,  indeed,  is  the 
best  thing  about  it.  As  a  conservatory  of  tropic 
growths  the  house  party  is  unrivalled,  and  to  its 
cultures  are  due  its  popularity.  Had  she  known 

269 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

this,  had  she  realised  the  peril  of  enforced  con- 
tact, she  would  have  feared  not  one  blaze  but 
several. 

Channing  had  been  expected  among  the  first 
arrivals,  but  had  been .  delayed.  Mrs.  Jewett 
regretted  his  absence  on  Edith's  account.  The 
weariness  in  the  girl's  face  reminded  her  of  how 
lonely  she  must  be  amid  the  present  company. 
There  was  no  man,  and  certainly  no  woman,  who 
could  appeal  to  her,  and  when  at  last  he  wrote 
Beatrice  that  he  would  arrive  the  following  Mon- 
day, she  hurried  the  news  to  Edith. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Edith,  frankly.  "  Cap- 
tain Channing  will  be  a  relief.  I  do  my  best  on 
sister's  account,  but  these  men,  Alice,  are  very 
trying." 

"  Pray  don't  apologise,"  answered  Mrs.  Jewett, 
"  they  are  trying  to  any  one  —  that  is,  any  one 
who  thinks.  I  asked  Wetmore  yesterday  if  he 
liked  the  Rubaiyat.  *  I  cannot  say  that  I  do,'  he 
replied.  '  I  stick  pretty  closely  to  old  Tokay 
myself.'  " 

As  Mrs.  Jewett  had  expected,  Channing  was 
forced  to  rely  on  Edith  for  company.  His  view 
of  the  other  guests  matched  hers,  and  if  there 
had  been  no  other  reason  their  mutual  disfavour 
would  have  kept  them  much  together. 
270 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Beatrice  was  very  busy  with  her  plans,  and 
hardly  noticed  him  after  the  first  greeting. 
Whether  this  disappointed  him  Mrs.  Jewett  could 
not  tell.  Sometimes  she  thought  he  was  more  ani- 
mated when  with  Beatrice,  but  of  this  she  was  not 
sure.  Certainly  he  seemed  to  delight  in  Edith's 
patronage. 

Had  Channing  himself  stopped  for  analysis  he 
would  have  been  quite  as  much  puzzled  as  Mrs. 
Jewett.  He  felt  for  Edith  congeniality;  beyond 
that,  nothing.  This  was  true  when  Morgan  deliv- 
ered his  hint,  and  it  was  true  now.  He  did  not 
speculate.  He  was  content  to  indulge  their  friend- 
ship without  troubling  as  to  sentiment.  Also  his 
modesty  forbade  the  notion  that  her  interest  was 
unusual.  What  did  trouble  him  was  the  warmth 
with  which  he  received  from  Beatrice  the  smallest 
attention.  She  had  for  him  an  elusive  charm. 
He  could  hardly  understand  this,  and  it  made  him 
secretly  ashamed.  It  was  almost  like  treason  to 
Edith. 

The  younger  sister  planned  for  him  a  variety 
of  entertainment.  They  had  long  walks  in  the 
early  morning  and  still  longer  canters  on  the  two 
saddle-horses  which  Channing  ordered  from  the 
city.  Edith  was  never  so  gay  as  when  riding 
through  the  keen  March  air,  now  and  then  spur- 

271 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

ring  her  companion  to  a  brush  and  at  other  times 
racing  along  out  of  pure  exhilaration.  They 
varied  this  with  automobile  outings,  and  when 
Mrs.  Jewett  could  go  they  would  stop  for  lunch 
at  some  out-of-the-way  farmhouse.  Then  there 
were  the  golf  links  of  the  neighbouring  country 
club.  Edith  played  wretchedly,  but  Channing  was 
so  devoted  to  the  game  that  she  tried  to  learn 
merely  to  furnish  him  an  opponent.  In  such 
fashion  they  passed  a  happy  week  —  to  Channing 
of  the  truest  companionship,  to  Edith  of  this  and 
more. 

Once  a  mishap  occurred,  which,  while  it  shad- 
owed their  pleasure,  served  also  to  make  clearer 
their  estimate  of  each  other.  They  were  travel- 
ling along  the  highway  near  the  estate  when, 
without  warning,  a  boy  darted  through  the  hedge 
and  started  across  the  road  before  the  machine. 
Edith  was  at  the  levers.  She  tried  desperately 
to  save  the  child,  but  it  was  too  late.  One  of  the 
wheels  struck  him  and  hurled  him  aside,  uncon- 
scious. Edith  did  not  faint  or  cry  out.  Her  lips 
quivered  when  Channing  laid  the  little  victim  on 
the  seat,  but  she  made  a  pillow  of  her  cloak  and 
wiped  away  the  blood  from  his  brow.  She 
watched  Channing  numbly  while  he  examined  the 
wound. 

272 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  There  is  a  bad  cut  in  the  forehead,"  he 
announced,  "  but  I  am  sure  there  is  no  fracture. 
He  has  been  stunned." 

"  We  had  better  take  him  to  the  house,"  sug- 
gested Edith,  brightening,  "  and  bring  Doctor 
Knowlton." 

"  No,"  said  Channing,  "  I  have  seen  this  child 
before.  I  believe  his  parents  live  in  the  farmhouse 
a  mile  ahead  of  us.  We  had  better  take  him 
there."  Channing  stationed  himself  at  the  levers, 
while  Edith,  to  save  him  from  jolting,  took  the 
urchin  on  her  lap.  Then  they  whirled  away.  At 
the  farmhouse  there  was  a  pitiful  scene.  The 
mother  wrung  her  hands,  and  the  father  stormed 
angrily  at  both  Edith  and  Channing,  but  more 
particularly  at  Edith. 

"  I  have  seen  you  tearing  along  before,"  he 
cried,  "  and  I'll  pay  you  for  this,  see  if  I  don't. 
You  think  because  you're  rich  you  can  run  down 
anybody.  I'll  have  the  law  on  ye." 

"  I  was  running  the  machine  when  it  hap- 
pened," said  Channing,  quickly,  "  and  I  am 
responsible.  The  boy  dashed  under  the  wheels." 

"  They  all  say  that.     I'll  make  you  prove  it !  " 

Channing  cut  short  the  wrangle.  "  I  am  going 
after  a  doctor,"  he  said.  "  We  will  talk  the 
matter  over  afterward." 

273 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  cannot  go  with  you,"  Edith  whispered ;  "  the 
poor  woman  is  so  distracted  she  will  be  useless." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Channing,  doubtfully,  "  I 
am  only  afraid  you  will  be  insulted." 

"  I  must  not  notice." 

When  he  got  back  with  the  doctor,  Channing 
found  Edith  had  revived  the  boy  and  bound  up 
the  wound.  The  doctor  made  light  of  the  injury. 

"  A  cut  and  a  shock,"  he  said,  "  no  fracture 
and  no  chance  of  trouble."  By  his  cheery  banter 
he  restored  the  parents  to  calm. 

"  We  will  pay  for  everything,"  said  Channing 
to  the  father,  "  and  when  he  is  around  I  will  see 
that  a  present  makes  him  forgive  us."  They  left 
the  doctor  at  the  farm  and  started  for  home. 

"  Captain  Channing,"  asked  Edith,  earnestly, 
"  why  did  you  tell  the  man  you  were  responsi- 
ble ?  I  had  no  wish  to  hide  behind  you." 

"  To  be  frank,"  said  Channing,  lightly,  "  I  was 
afraid  you  might  be  arrested." 

"Well!" 

"  And  if  anything  happened,  it  is  just  possible 
that  some  zealous  district  attorney  might  have 
claimed  manslaughter." 

"Oh!"  said  Edith,  paling,  "that  would  be 
terrible."  Then  after  a  pause  she  added,  impul- 
sively, "  In  time,  Captain  Channing,  I  may  appre- 
274 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

date  how  much  above  other  men  you  are.  As 
it  is,  pray  accept  my  thanks." 

As  Mrs.  Jewett  had  promised,  the  widest  lati- 
tude was  taken  with  Lent. 

"It  is  not  good  form  to  dance  the  first  two 
weeks  after  Ash  Wednesday,"  she  told  Beatrice, 
"  but  now  we  need  not  be  so  careful."  So  they 
had"  several  small  affairs,  although  to  Beatrice  the 
restraint  was  annoying. 

As  Easter  Sunday  approached  there  was  some 
talk  of  joining  the  parade  in  the  city  or  on  the 
boardwalk  at  Atlantic  City. 

"Where  is  Atlantic  City?"  asked  Beatrice. 

"  Atlantic  City,"  volunteered  Mr.  Wetmore, 
who  suspected  a  sarcasm,  "  is  on  the  coast  near 
Philadelphia.  It  is  quite  the  custom  to  go  there  at 
Easter,  because  more  people  can  see  your  gowns 
there  than  anywhere  else." 

"Why  so?"  queried  Mrs.  Sloane. 

"  The  boardwalk,  you  know,  is  restricted.  You 
can  go  over  the  same  ground  often  enough  to  be 
noticed.  Then  the  accommodations  for  spectators 
are  good." 

Beatrice  hurried  away  to  Mrs.  Jewett. 

"  Alice,  do  you  think  it  would  pay  us  to  run 
a  special  train  to  Atlantic  City?  " 

Mrs.  Jewett  looked  interested.  "  It  is  an  idea," 

275 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

she  said,  thoughtfully ;  "ask  Mr.  Gotham."  He 
was  consulted. 

"  O,  it's  worth  three  or  four  hundred  words 
here  and  there  if  the  train  is  gorgeous  enough," 
he  said.  "  It  would  show  you  were  modern." 

So  a  train  was  ordered,  whose  function  was 
advertising  first  and  transportation  afterward.  It 
was  the  sort  of  movable  palace  in  which  presi- 
dents are  housed,  and  Gotham  said  so  in  his  paper. 
When  he  left  New  York  the  other  papers  said 
much  the  same  thing.  Beatrice  had  reserved 
half  the  biggest  hotel  at  the  shore,  and  in  order 
to  fill  the  suites  she  picked  up  in  the  city  the 
Layton  girls,  Mrs.  Thompson,  and  two  important 
cousins  of  Wetmore. 

Their  departure  from  New  York  was  noted; 
Philadelphia  observed  their  flight,  and  when  they 
reached  the  shore  the  correspondents  there  sent 
away  details  of  the  whole  performance.  Beatrice 
was  happy. 

"  My  idea  this  time,  Alice,"  she  said,  as  though 
she  had  not  claimed  all  the  others,  "  and  you  must 
admit  it  has  paid  us.  Besides,"  she  added,  "  it  is 
helping  to  pass  away  Lent." 

It  rained  during  the  whole  of  their  stay. 

On  their  return  to  the  Sound,  Beatrice  cele- 
brated the  end  of  the  obnoxious  season  with  a 
276 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

dance.  It  was  used  for  a  reunion  of  her  social 
constituents.  To  the  roster  was  added  the  Wet- 
more  cousins,  and  an  effort  was  made  to  get  out 
its  full  strength.  The  response  was  unanimous. 

"  You  see  how  it  pays  to  spend  money,"  said 
Mrs.  Jewett.  "  These  people  know  that  if  you 
are  not  original  you  are  sure  to  be  lavish.  It's 
almost  like  ringing  a  dinner-bell." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Beatrice,  "  and  note,  if  you 
please,  that  none  of  the  old  set  remain.  We  have 
gotten  rid  of  them  for  ever." 

The  affair  grew  by  stages  into  an  ambitious 
display.  Beatrice  got  the  owner's  consent  to  cer- 
tain "  desirable  alterations  "  in  the  great  white 
and  gold  ballroom,  and  a  band  of  workmen  locked 
themselves  in  to  labour  on  a  surprise.  Then  she 
bestirred  the  electricians,  and  for  several  days 
there  were  elaborate  manoeuvres  all  over  the 
grounds  with  great  coils  of  wires,  and  in  the 
dance-room  still  further  operations. 

Such  a  series  of  events  occupied  the  guests  that 
the  activity  was  hardly  noticed.  Mrs.  Jewett  had 
charge  of  the  minor  entertainments,  and  she  left 
not  an  hour  of  the  day  without  its  pleasant  dis- 
traction. There  were  long  automobile  trips  into 
the  country,  there  were  tally-ho  parades  and  golf 
games,  and  when  it  rained  she  varied  the 

277 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

monotony  with  trente  et  quarante,  and  a  miniature 
but  quite  wicked  roulette  table.  This  last  was 
immensely  popular  and  came  to  be  played  on  fair 
days  as  well  as  foul.  For  Edith  the  golf  course 
proved  a  growing  habit.  Every  day  when  it 
was  possible  she  and  Channing  led  a  party  of 
players  over  the  links,  and  she  was  not  satisfied 
until  she  had  gotten  up  a  tournament  among  the 
guests.  She  told  her  plan  to  a  little  group  on 
the  club-house  veranda.  "  It  is  a  good  idea," 
declared  Mrs.  Jewett.  "  We  can  get  some 
splendid  costume  effects.  What  do  you  think, 
Mr.  Gotham  ?  " 

Gotham  was  watching  Mrs.  Castle  and  Mrs. 
Thompson,  red-coated  and  elderly,  going  the  cir- 
cuit. 

"  It  is  a  battle  of  the  grenadiers,"  he  answered, 
absently. 

"  Mr.  Gotham,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  with  sharp- 
ness, "  you  are  wandering,  and  it  is  dangerous. 
Edith  suggests  a  tournament." 

"  Oh !  pardon  me.  I  don't  see  why  it  should 
not  be  very  brilliant." 

"That  is  what  I  tell  Edith.  We  could  get 
colour  effects." 

Edith    looked    bewildered.      "  I    thought    the 
scores  counted  for  something,"  she  said. 
278 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  They  do,"  said  Gotham,  "  the  tailors'  scores." 

Mrs.  Jewett  paired  the  couples  with  discretion, 
and  the  tournament  was  a  success.  It  also  gave 
Gotham  a  chance  to  place  the  Cameron  name  again 
before  the  public. 

On  the  evening  of  the  dance  Beatrice  sprung 
the  first  of  those  electrical  displays  which  she  had 
prepared  as  material  for  the  newspapers.  When 
the  special  train  bearing  the  guests  from  the 
city  reached  Excelsior,  they  were  met  with  auto- 
mobiles, and  the  company  started  for  the  house 
in  procession.  The  night  was  happily  dark,  so 
the  surprise  planned  by  the  engineers  was  quite  the 
shock  she  anticipated. 

Leaving  the  wood,  there  was  a  strip  of  open 
road,  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  in  length,  which 
made  straight  in  through  the  great  gates  of  the 
estate.  From  either  side  of  the  gates  a  hedgerow 
stretched  away  along  the  entire  front  of  the 
grounds.  Just  as  the  last  vehicle  emerged  from 
the  wood,  the  gates  and  the  whole  front  of  the 
hedgerow  leaped  into  a  dazzling  wall  of  light. 
While  the  guests  still  gaped  at  the  brilliant  appari- 
tion it  vanished.  A  second  later  a  point  of  golden 
light  appeared  at  each  extreme  of  the  hedgerow, 
and  with  startling  rapidity  swept  along  the  face 
of  the  wall  until  the  first  blaze  was  restored,  and 

279 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  gates  all  aflame  with  pin-points  of  effulgence. 
As  if  the  curtain  had  risen  on  some  gorgeous 
stage-setting  the  visitors  broke  into  a  storm  of 
hand-clapping.  Then  as  they  ran  closer  to  the 
entrance,  they  saw  over  the  granite  arch  in  letters 
of  fire  the  words :  "  Bye  bye,  Lent ;  so  sorry," 
which  ribald  adieu,  so  far  from  disturbing  their 
reverential  sense,  moved  them  to  a  roar  of 
laughter. 

Inside  the  grounds  another  exhibit  of  the  elec- 
trical wizards  marked  their  progress.  Running 
along  the  ground  ahead  of  them  on  both  sides 
of  the  drive  thin  lines  of  fire  etched  the  way. 
Radiating  from  these  in  fantastic  convolutions 
were  other  threads  of  tiny  lights  which  appeared 
and  disappeared,  until  the  whole  park  seemed  the 
playground  of  writhing,  glittering  serpents.  The 
guests  had  ceased  to  applaud  —  they  watched  in 
wonder.  Beatrice  viewed  the  spectacle  from  the 
great  balcony. 

"  Mr.  Gotham,"  she  said,  gently,  "  is  it  copy?  " 

"  Half  a  column  in  the  deadest  paper  ever 
printed,"  he  cried,  "  and  the  New  Yorkers  will 
double  that.  You  force  us  to  follow  you." 

Mrs.  Jewett  looked  on  and  smiled. 

"  Money,"  she  murmured,  "  oh,  money,  money, 
money !  " 
280 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

But  the  triumph  did  not  end  out-of-doors. 
When  the  ballroom  was  thrown  open  the  tributes 
began  all  over  again.  The  great  room  was  a  hall 
of  wonders.  At  regular  intervals  throughout  its 
length  Beatrice  had  built  in  ground  glass  panels, 
through  which  came  the  radiance  of  hundreds  of 
lights.  The  effect  was  a  dainty  white  and  yellow 
glow  that  fascinated  the  eye  and  stirred  the  imagi- 
nation. To  help  the  appearance,  the  chandeliers 
were  lighted  only  enough  to  support  and  render 
practical  the  mystic  gleams  from  the  walls.  It  was 
like  dancing  in  a  white  sunlight.  At  each  end 
of  the  room  circular  pools  of  light  shone  through 
glass-covered  openings  let  into  the  floor,  and  the 
dancers  in  their  rounds  swept  over  and  over  these 
ghostly  wells  of  illumination.  Altogether  by  the 
use  of  familiar  materials,  Beatrice  had  created  a 
dance-room  novelty  destined  to  be  imitated  all 
over  the  country.  The  New  York  papers  were 
enthusiastic.  Gotham  showed  himself  much 
moved  in  his  account,  and  Beatrice's  name  was 
bracketed  with  another  discovery  in  decorative 
entertaining.  From  the  standpoint  of  advertis- 
ing the  affair  paid  cent  per  cent,  and  she  had 
occasion  to  appreciate  it  some  time  after,  when 
she  added  to  the  roster  the  woman  who  held  the 


281 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

premiership  in  New  York  as  an  original  enter- 
tainer. 

"  If  I  am  to  lose  my  sceptre  I  might  as  well 
be  on  good  terms  with  my  successor,"  said  this 
woman,  with  a  frank  smile.  "  I  fancy  that  elec- 
trical device  was  suggested  to  you  by  Fouquet." 

"  No,"  said  Beatrice,  who  knew  nothing  of 
Louis  XIV.'s  finance  minister,  "  it  was  suggested 
by  MacDonald,  my  chief  electrician.  He's  not  a 
Frenchman,  but  a  Scotchman." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  visitor,  politely,  but  crimson 
with  unruly  merriment.  "  I  knew  of  course  that 
Fouquet  had  no  electricity,  but  his  outdoor  fete 
was  so  remarkable  I  thought  it  might  have  been 
the  inspiration.  If  I  were  you,"  she  added,  trying 
to  change  the  subject,  "  I  would  give  your  engi- 
neer a  chance  to  decorate  a  yacht.  He  might  set 
fire  to  the  Sound." 

By  the  middle  of  April  there  had  been  almost 
a  complete  change  of  guests  at  Bellamore,  as 
Beatrice  named  the  estate,  and  of  the  original 
group  but  Royer  and  Gotham  remained.  Gotham, 
indeed,  had  practically  taken  up  his  abode  there, 
going  to  New  York  at  intervals,  and  as  he  was 
widely  known  to  society  he  found  the  life  con- 
genial and  useful.  There  were,  of  course,  critics 


282 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

who    accused    Beatrice   of    maintaining   a   press 
agent,  but  even  these  admired  her  audacity. 

Some  of  these  sarcasms  reached  Gotham,  but 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  go.  The  fascination 
with  which  Beatrice  inspired  him  had  grown  into 
a  smouldering  attachment,  the  more  disturbing  in 
that  he  guarded  it  carefully.  For  this  reason 
alone  he  wished  to  remain  near  her.  In  a  general 
way  Gotham  knew  of  the  tragedies  with  which 
Beatrice's  name  was  linked,  and  at  first  he  had 
tried  to  draw  from  them  a  lesson.  But  he  found 
her  mere  physical  presence  a  magnet,  and  he 
succumbed  day  by  day  to  the  mounting  tide  of 
passion.  That  he  had  any  reason  to  hope  was 
doubtful,  but  on  this  point  her  conduct  puzzled 
and  misled  him.  There  was  a  caressing  note  in 
her  manner  which  seemed  to  justify  ambition; 
he  could  not  tell.  His  self-deceit  arose  from  blind- 
ness to  his  professional  strength.  As  dean  of  the 
New  York  society  editors  he  was  just  as  necessary 
to  Beatrice  as  money,  and  she  was  always  fearful 
he  might  desert  her  cause.  For  the  future  she 
had  no  concern;  neither  had  she  thought  for 
the  possible  damage  to  Gotham;  her  ideas 
centred  on  making  him  bondman  to  her  ambition. 
Mrs.  Jewett  noticed  it  and  sent  up  a  cry  of 
warning. 

283 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Be  careful,"  she  admonished,  "  if  he  falls  in 
love  with  you  it  will  be  embarrassing." 

"  So  it  will,"  admitted  Beatrice,  "  but  if  I  can 
retain  him  until  fall  I  shall  not  need  him  so  badly. 
I  think  we  ought  to  cultivate  some  one  else  as  a 
protection.  We  rely  too  much  on  Willie." 

"  Well,  see  to  it  that  he  has  no  delusions. 
When  he  does  go  it  is  important  that  he  goes  as 
a  friend." 

Channing  had  gone  with  the  others,  called 
away  on  special  service  for  the  government. 
Edith  made  no  attempt  to  hide  her  regret.  It 
was  an  end  to  her  holiday,  and  she  frankly  begged 
his  return  as  soon  as  he  might. 

"  Believe  me,  Miss  Cameron,"  he  said,  "  it  is 
like  going  back  to  exile.  I  shall  return,  and  also, 
if  I  may,  I  shall  write  you  of  my  whereabouts." 

Royer  stayed  on  because,  unlike  Gotham,  he 
was  an  open  seeker  for  Beatrice's  hand.  There 
was  little  discretion  in  his  method  and  less  finesse. 
He  pursued  Beatrice  openly  and  with  vigour. 

Edith  watched  the  chase  anxiously.  Now  was 
the  time  to  see  how  much  the  disasters  of  the 
winter,  and  her  own  appeals,  had  altered  Beatrice. 
It  was  a  clear-cut  situation.  Beatrice  did  not  love 
the  man,  she  even  mocked  his  passion ;  and  Edith 
could  see  no  excuse  for  keeping  him  in  doubt. 
284 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

Personally,  Royer  filled  her  with  distrust.  She 
would  have  sympathised  with  Beatrice  had  she 
checked  him  at  the  outset,  and  she  even  wished 
she  had  done  so.  To  play  at  coquetry  with  such 
a  man  struck  her  as  intolerable.  His  whole  cast 
was  saturnine.  Black  hair,  black  eyes,  and  a 
sombre  spirit  warned  her  that  this  was  dangerous 
material  to  ignite.  When  she  watched  him  trail- 
ing Beatrice  around  with  his  gloomy  gaze,  com- 
mon sense  breathed  of  evil.  He  was  not  at  all 
the  person  to  accept  trifling.  He  might  kill 
himself,  of  course,  but  he  would  probably  decide 
to  kill  his  tormentor  first.  In  her  dread  she  sought 
Mrs.  Jewett. 

"  Alice,"  she  said,  "  I  had  hoped  that  sister 
would  learn  from  experience  the  crime  of  coquetry. 
It  seems  not.  We  had  Trexler,  and  we  had  Holt, 
and  now  we  are  to  have  Royer.  Can  nothing  be 
done  to  stop  her  ?  She  does  not  care  for  him,  yet 
she  is  deceiving  him  and  sowing  another  harvest  of 
trouble.  Why  cannot  she  be  honest?" 

"  Because  she  is,  in  one  sense,  a  moral  degen- 
erate," answered  Mrs.  Jewett,  with  real  sadness. 
"  To  any  other  woman  the  woe  she  has  caused 
would  blacken  a  lifetime  —  Beatrice  has  forgotten 
there  was  any  woe.  Neither  you  nor  I  have  any 
influence.  I  believe  the  exercise  of  her  power  is 

285 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

a  passion  —  she  employs  it  as  another  would 
hypnotism." 

"  It  is  a  crime,"  said  Edith. 

"  It  is  baser  than  crime,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
sternly.  "  Crime  may  be  punished,  but  who  is  to 
punish  the  woman  who  murders  with  false  love, 
and  wrecks  with  deceitful  invitation?  You  have 
not  noticed  a  worse  case  than  Royer's  ?  " 

"  What  is  that?  "  asked  Edith,  quickly. 

"  Willie  Gotham.  She  is  preparing  for  him 
both  a  fool's  paradise  and  an  eviction,  and 
knows  she  is  doing  it.  I  think  he  deserves  better 
treatment." 

Edith's  eyes  filled  with  slow  tears;  her  lips 
quivered  pitifully. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it,  Alice,"  she  whispered ;  "  it 
is  like  torturing.  He  is  vain,  he  is  shallow,  but 
we  have  had  from  him  only  kindness  and  aid. 
It  seems  strange  she  should  not  remember." 

Mrs.  Jewett  smiled  faintly. 

"  Do  you  think  it  possible,  Alice,"  went  on 
Edith,  with  a  little  eagerness,  "  that  Beatrice  can- 
not help  herself  ?  May  she  not  be  pursued  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Jewett,  firmly,  "  a 
woman  need  not  be  bothered  by  unwelcome  suitors 
if  she  will  be  honest.  I  believe  that  with  Beatrice 


286 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

it  is  emotional  vivisection;  she  exposes  a  nerve 
to  see  it  quiver.  She  told  me  herself  that  until 
a  man  flushed  at  her  approach  she  did  not  feel 
she  had  properly  stimulated  his  interest." 

"  Then  we  will  continue  until  —  what?  "  asked 
Edith,  sadly. 

"That's  just  it  — what?" 

The  talk  with  Mrs.  Jewett  depressed  Edith  to 
the  last  degree.  It  showed  how  vain  was  the  hope 
of  restraining  Beatrice  by  normal  methods.  If 
Mrs.  Jewett,  able  and  clever,  abandoned  Beatrice, 
how  was  she  to  supply  the  needed  check?  Her 
sole  influence  was  moral  suasion,  and  that  had 
proved  no  influence  at  all.  Yet  she  could  not 
remain  passive;  her  religion  called  on  her  to  act, 
her  humanity  moved  her  to  effort.  She  prayed 
for  light,  for  power,  and  the  very  absence  of  a 
method  weighed  her  with  sorrow.  She  fell  to 
watching  her  sister,  noting  at  close  range  those 
arts  which  worried  her,  yet  had  in  themselves  an 
interest.  Everything  she  saw  favoured  Mrs. 
Jewett's  charge;  Beatrice  was  a  mistress  of  deceit. 
The  thing  that  puzzled  Edith  was  how  such 
imposture  triumphed.  Beatrice  was  an  actress 
who  had  played  a  part  so  long  that  to  be  artificial 
became  second  nature.  It  was  clear  to  Edith, 


287 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  it  should  have  been  plain  to  any  one  with 
vision  unclouded  of  passion.  But  the  men  seemed 
never  to  see  at  all. 

Underscoring  Edith's  trouble  came  the  news 
of  Mrs.  Lambert's  death.  She  had  passed  away 
as  the  result  of  a  slow  decline,  a  breaking  up  of 
the  vital  energies  dating  from  the  night  Holt 
went  mad. 

The  announcement  awoke  in  Edith  all  that 
dormant  horror  of  Beatrice  which  of  late  had  been 
replaced  by  mere  anxiety.  She  saw  laid  at  her 
sister's  feet  the  wreckage  of  still  another  life; 
the  winding-sheet  draped  her  shoulders  as  a 
mantle. 

Edith  went  to  the  funeral  of  her  aunt  alone. 
Beatrice  refused  to  attend,  and  there  had  been  a 
painful  scene  over  the  matter,  in  which  Edith  dis- 
played something  of  the  family  temper.  But 
Beatrice  had  been  firm. 

"  I  shall  not  only  stay  away  from  the  funeral," 
she  said,  angrily,  "  but  I  think  you  insult  me  by 
going." 

Mrs.  Jewett  had  offered  to  accompany  her,  but 
Edith,  with  no  wish  to  involve  this  good  friend, 
asked  her  to  remain.  While  in  the  city,  Edith 
made  some  inquiries  about  the  unfortunate  Holt. 


288 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

She  learned  that  he  was  still  confined  in  an  asylum, 
but  of  his  progress  she  could  discover  nothing. 

When  she  returned  to  Bellamore,  Edith  at  once 
sought  peace  with  Beatrice.  She  did  so  not  from 
contrition,  but  because  it  had  become  a  settled 
belief,  made  clearer  by  Mrs.  Lambert's  death,  that 
upon  her  alone  depended  Beatrice's  conversion. 
She  had  less  hope  than  ever  before,  but  in  place 
of  hope  there  was  the  spur  of  duty,  and  if  any- 
thing were  to  be  gained  she  must  sink  her  resent- 
ment. 

The  reconciliation  was  very  heavy. 

"  If  you  wish  to  remain  on  a  friendly  footing," 
said  Beatrice,  distantly,  "  you  will  have  to  show 
respect  for  me  and  attend  more  strictly  to  such 
affairs  as  may  interest  you.  Mrs.  Lambert  treated 
me  outrageously." 

"  Beatrice,"  said  Edith,  with  sudden  resolution, 
"  if  I  did  not  think  you  were  still  pursuing  the 
same  folly  that  indirectly  killed  auntie,  I  should 
not  have  been  resentful." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  You  are  preparing  another  season  here  at 
Bellamore.  Mr.  Royer  —  Mr.  Gotham  —  " 

"  That  is  enough,"  interrupted  Beatrice,  flush- 
ing. "  I  have  told  you  over  and  over  that  I 
wished  you  to  let  my  sentimental  affairs  alone. 

289 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

If  you  continue  this  annoyance,  I  shall  ask  you  to 
go  home  to  New  Orleans.  You  have  been  very 
odd  ever  since  we  left  New  York.  It  is  getting 
intolerable,  and  you  worry  me  almost  as  much  as 
you  do  yourself.  If  you  cannot  enjoy  it  here,  be 
honest  enough  to  take  your  departure.  I  suppose 
Mrs.  Jewett  supports  your  fancies,  —  a  woman 
who  is  trying  to  balance  her  moral  ledger  at  my 
expense.  I  advise  you  to  let  her  severely  alone." 
Saying  this,  Beatrice  left  the  room. 


290 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Y  the  middle  of  May  Beatrice's  position  had 
improved  until,  if  not  actually  accepted  by 
society,  she  at  least  held  its  letter  of  credit. 
The  guests  who  returned  to  the  city  made  much  of 
the  lavish  hand  at  Bellamore,  and  showered  the 
bud  of  reputation  with  the  dew  of  favour.  Grati- 
tude made  of  them  heralds.  The  newspapers,  too, 
had  come  to  look  on  Beatrice  as  a  purveyor  of 
things  original,  and  watched  closely  for  the  rise 
of  the  curtain.  She  had  less  need  of  Gotham  than 
she  imagined.  The  problem  of  guests  was  a 
problem  no  longer  —  at  least,  it  had  resolved  itself 
into  detail.  Invitations  to  Bellamore  were  gen- 
erally welcome. 

Mrs.  Jewett  handled  the  lists  cleverly.  She 
did  not  let  success  invite  rebuff.  The  chase  of 
the  smart  set  compassed  the  hunt.  That  august 
body,  the  conservatives,  were  left  for  another 
day. 

The  shifting  of  guests  had  brought  together  at 
this  time  a  notable  group.  The  Sloanes  had  re- 

291 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

turned,  and  Royer,  after  a  week  in  the  city,  was 
also  back,  but  otherwise  the  recruits  were  new- 
comers, with  the  younger  element  in  control. 

Of  this  last  was  Miss  Muriel  Williard.  She 
was  a  perfect  type  of  the  domestic  ingenue.  Her 
spirit  was  impish  and  her  days  a  record  of  mis- 
chief. She  did  things  which  in  any  other  woman 
would  have  been  "  hoydenish,"  and  her  talent  for 
annoyance  was  only  limited  by  the  patience  of  her 
victims.  Her  social  eminence  brought  her  license. 

The  special  target  of  Miss  Williard  was  a  Mr. 
Forest  Laner,  whose  sponsor  was  Wetmore.  Mr. 
Laner  was  a  mosaic  of  dismal  traits.  He  had 
the  long  discarded  drawl,  tiresome  affectations  of 
manner,  and  a  conceit  that  was  an  affront.  Miss 
Williard  missed  no  occasion  when  she  might  irri- 
tate him  and  dispel  his  calm.  Her  lightning  play 
of  satire  found  him  helpless  and  left  him  confused. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Laner,"  she  would  ob- 
serve, sweetly,  "  I  think  you  are  a  perfect  example 
of  the  modern  society  man." 

"  That  is  very  kind  of  you." 

;'  Yes,  you  say  so  little,  yet  look  so  much." 

"  Er  —  meaning,  I  suppose,  the  poise." 

"  Just  so.  I  doubt  if  I  ever  saw  anything  just 
like  it." 

"  I  do  try  to  be  original." 
292 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Well,  you  are.  I  question  whether  there  is 
another  man  in  New  York  who  could  be  just 
as  you  are  if  he  tried." 

He  looked  at  her  gravely.  "It  is  a  matter 
of  detail,"  he  said,  with  some  uncertainty. 

"  I  suppose  so ;  if  a  man  stopped  to  view  the 
whole  effort  he  would  be  appalled." 

"'But  it  is  no  effort  to  be  correct." 

"  I  never  believed  there  was  much  effort  on 
your  part.  Your  attitude,  I  imagine,  is  natural 
and  not  artificial." 

"O,   entirely   so." 

"  A  case  where  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction." 

Miss  Williard  found  a  strong  ally  in  a  Mr. 
Dixon,  a  man  of  sympathetic  spirit.  His  was 
the  suave  and  ironic  temper  born  of  experience, 
and  he  refused  to  tolerate  Mr.  Laner  for  an 
instant. 

"  I  have  had  much  charity  for  fools  ever  since 
I  went  into  Wall  Street,"  he  explained  to  Miss 
Williard,  "  but  I  heard  this  man  say  once  that  a 
certain  kind  of  manly  beauty  was  irresistible. 
Then  he  walked  over  to  a  pier  mirror  to  see  if 
the  kind  were  still  there." 

"Was  it?" 

"  I  presume  not.  He  changed  his  clothes 
shortly  afterward." 

293 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Nothing  pleased  Mr.  Dixon  so  much  as  to 
wedge  the  offending  Laner  in  between  himself  and 
Miss  Williard  and  bombard  his  dignity.  And 
nothing  pleased  him  less  than  the  failure  of  these 
assaults  to  chill  the  man's  conceit.  Mr.  Dixon 
longed  for  some  special  humiliation.  Therefore, 
when  one  day  Miss  Williard  outlined  a  plan,  he 
not  only  gave  it  support,  but  he  urged  its 
immediate  trial. 

Two  mornings  after,  Miss  Williard  rode 
over  to  Greenwich  on  a  shopping  tour.  She 
was  careful  that  her  only  companion  should  be 
Mr.  Laner.  When  they  reached  the  town,  she 
gave  the  chauffeur  secret  orders,  and  to  Mr.  Laner 
announced  that  they  would  go  from  shop  to  shop 
on  foot.  The  automobile,  she  said,  needed  some 
trifling  repair  and  would  be  at  hand  later. 

In  the  shops  she  bought  a  multitude  of  small 
packages.  Then  she  appealed  to  the  gallantry 
of  her  escort.  "  I  cannot  get  a  messenger,"  she 
pleaded,  "  and  if  you  will  only  carry  these  to 
the  next  store  I  am  sure  we  shall  meet  the  auto- 
mobile." He  complied,  with  the  utmost  gloom, 
and  even  Miss  Williard  had  to  admit  that  as  a 
porter  he  made  a  sorry  figure.  In  the  last  shop 
she  bought  several  more  packages  and  added  these 
to  Mr.  Laner' s  decoration.  "  Now  if  you  will 
294 


stand  here  a  moment,"  she  said,  when  they  were 
outside,  "  I  will  go  to  that  drug  store  and  tele- 
phone for  James.  I  cannot  imagine  why  he  is 
not  here."  Mr.  Laner  took  up  a  position  near 
the  store  door,  and  Miss  Williard  raced  away. 
She  had  hardly  gone  when,  to  his  horror,  Mr. 
Laner  saw  the  dreaded  Dixon  moving  slowly 
down  the  street.  When  opposite  the  squire,  Mr. 
Dixon  stopped,  backed  off  to  the  curb,  and  looked 
him  over  with  a  leer  of  absolute  amazement. 
Then  with  great  care  he  adjusted  his  glasses  and 
stared  again.  Laner  moved  uneasily  and  his  face 
reddened. 

"  I  think  you  are  somewhat  insolent,  Mr. 
Dixon,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Dixon  continued  his  inspection.  "  I  cannot 
understand  it,"  he  replied.  "  You  led  us  to  believe 
at  Bellamore  that  you  were  a  man  of  position." 

"  What !  "  gasped  Laner. 

"  I  say  we  were  given  to  understand  that  you 
were  everything  that  is  correct,  yet  here  I  find 
you  carrying  bundles." 

"  I  am  not  carrying  bundles,"  spluttered  the 
victim,  "  I  am  merely  holding  a  few  packages 
until  Miss  Williard  returns." 

"  Permit  me  to  correct  you,  Mr.  Laner.  You 
are  not  holding  a  few.  I  see  eight  myself,  and 

295 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

I  fancy  the  one  you  are  holding  so  loosely  is  a 
—  er  —  bottle  of  Florida  water,  perhaps.  I  really 
did  not  expect  it  of  you." 

Mr.  Laner  did  not  answer.    He  merely  glared. 

"  I  don't  think  your  club  friends  would  like 
this,"  went  on  Mr.  Dixon,  gravely.  "  It  does 
seem  that  in  all  Greenwich  another  porter  might 
have  been  found.  If  you  are  really  acting  as  Miss 
Williard's  escort,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  But  if 
not,  if  you  are  actually  carrying  bundles,  then, 
of  course,  we  can  hardly  be  quite  as  before.  I 
do  not  favour  carrying  bundles  myself.  It  is 
wretched  form." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my 
life  before !  "  cried  Laner,  excitedly. 

"  At  least  I  have  never  seen  you,"  observed 
the  critic,  coldly.  "  To  me  it  is  a  deplorable 
spectacle."  He  raised  his  glasses  again  and  stared 
sadly.  Almost  on  the  instant  Mr.  Gotham  and 
a  Mr.  Vincent  of  the  Bellamore  circle  stepped 
briskly  around  the  corner  and  ran  into  the  tableau. 
Mr.  Dixon  affected  the  greatest  surprise. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Gotham.  "What  are 
you  staring  at  ?  " 

"  I  am  looking  at  Mr.  Laner  there.    Heretofore 
I  have  regarded  him  with  the  utmost  respect,  but 
now  —  see  the  bundles !  " 
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A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  Great  Heavens !  "  exclaimed  Gotham.  "  It  is 
a  spring-time  Santa  Glaus." 

"  I  have  counted  no  less  than  eight  packages," 
continued  Dixon,  "  and  I  fear  he  has  something 
under  his  hat.  It  is  tilted." 

"  For  my  part  I  think  Mr.  Laner  is  very  indus- 
trious. He  could  hardly  be  weighted  more." 

"  It  looks  to  me  like  experience,"  said  Dixon. 
"  Possibly  at  some  time  he  has  been  a  commuter." 

"  No,"  Gotham  cut  in,  "  an  experienced  com- 
muter would  never  risk  such  a  cargo." 

"  Why  does  he  stand  in  one  spot?  "  demanded 
Dixon,  resentfully ;  "  he  has  not  moved  since  I 
came  here." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  advertising  the  store,"  sug- 
gested Vincent. 

"That  can't  be  so,  is  it,  Laner?"  asked  Gotham. 
"  That  is  nonsense,  but  truly  I  never  expected  it 
of  you.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  I  told  that  man  once  I  was  helping  Miss 
Williard,"  stammered  Laner,  hotly.  "  He  sees 
fit  to  make  game  of  gallantry." 

"  Not  so,"  declared  Dixon;  "  I  merely  said  that 
it  did  not  fit  with  your  station." 

"That  is  true,"  assented  Gotham.  "I  think 
myself  you  owe  something  to  dignity." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  moved  away  from  that  corset 

297 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

model  you  would  be  less  conspicuous,"  said  Vin- 
cent, kindly.     "  I  must  think  this  thing  over." 

And  while  they  were  preparing  themselves  for 
a  fresh  assault  Miss  Williard  and  the  automobile 
intervened.  Her  first  sight  of  Laner's  face  told 
her  the  plot  had  triumphed.  She  talked  breezily 
to  the  tormentors,  and  Laner,  white  and  silent, 
stowed  away  his  bundles  in  the  automobile.  They 
had  ridden  a  mile  from  the  scene  of  his  torture 
before  her  victim  spoke. 

"  Miss  Williard,"  he  began,  sternly,  "  you  have 
to-day  marred  my  entire  life." 

"  Is  it  possible?  "  she  said,  with  great  interest. 
"  How  ?  When  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  You  left  me  standing  in  the  street  with  an 
armful  of  packages.  I  was  discovered." 

"  Do  you  mean  by  the  trio  we  have  just  left? 
What  if  you  were?  They  were  respectable 
bundles!" 

"  The  shame  of  it  will  follow  me  everywhere. 
Those  men  will  tell  it  in  every  club  in  New  York." 

"  They  will  be  laughed  at." 

"  I  will  be  laughed  at.  It  is  a  lasting  disgrace. 
I  shall  have  to  leave  Bellamore,  but  before  I  go 
I  should  like  to  have  it  out  with  that  wretched 
Dixon." 

' "  Would  you  ?  "  cried  Miss  Williard,  eagerly. 
298 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  accept.  There  is  a  lovely 
wood  near  the  house." 

"  Unfortunately  I  know  nothing  of  firearms." 

"  That  need  not  matter.  You  can  challenge 
him,  and  just  as  you  are  about  to  fire  I  will  rush 
on  the  scene  and  demand  peace.  It  can  occur 
at  sunrise  when  no  one  else  is  about." 

•"  No,"  said  Laner,  coldly,  "  you  might  over- 
sleep." 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Laner  took  an  early 
train  for  New  York. 

Toward  the  end  of  May  Edith  received  a  letter 
from  Channing.  He  had  just  gotten  back  from 
the  West,  and  he  spoke  of  his  eagerness  to  return 
to  Bellamore  and  his  happiness  at  having  her 
standing  invitation.  He  promised  to  leave  the 
city  within  a  week.  Incidentally  he  mentioned 
having  met  Morgan,  who  had  likewise  drifted 
back  to  the  metropolis  after  a  visit  home.  Edith 
instantly  despatched  a  note  in  which  she  urged 
that  Morgan  accompany  the  captain.  This  Chan- 
ning laid  before  the  lieutenant.  "  You  will  be 
manly,  Wilbur,  and  go,"  he  pleaded.  "  It  is  the 
most  delightful  place  in  the  East." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  go,"  answered  Morgan.  "  I 
cannot  stay  away." 

When  Beatrice  learned  of  the  soldiers'  coming, 

299 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

she  was  disturbed.  "  Captain  Charming  is  pos- 
sible, of  course,"  she  said,  "  but  I  am  not  sure 
of  Lieutenant  Morgan.  We  have  advanced, 
Edith.  We  must  not  be  looking  backward." 

"  Nonsense,"  declared  Mrs.  Jewett,  briskly. 
"  Most  army  officers  have  social  passports  any- 
where. They  are  like  naval  men." 

"  Besides,  Beatrice,"  reminded  Edith,  "  Lieu- 
tenant Morgan  is  a  nephew  of  the  vice-president. 
The  Morgans  are  one  of  the  great  Southern 
families." 

"  O,  well,  I  am  not  convinced,  but  if  it  pleases 
you,  Edith,  I  shall  make  him  welcome." 

So  in  a  few  days  the  officers  made  their  way 
down  from  the  city,  and  life,  which  of  late  had 
been  so  dull  for  Edith,  took  on  a  new  colour. 
Almost  at  once  the  trio  found  themselves  back  in 
the  gay  comradeship  of  the  winter.  They  talked 
together  and  walked  together,  and  Edith  revived 
all  those  distractions  which  had  made  Channing's 
first  visit  to  Bellamore  such  a  time  of  delight. 
Morgan  made  himself  immensely  popular  with  the 
guests,  and  this  was  a  thing  Edith  could  in  no 
wise  understand.  Why  they  should  prefer  a 
dealer  in  jests  to  the  wearer  of  bay  leaves 
puzzled  her.  Also  it  made  her  a  trifle  indignant. 


300 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

The  guests  gave  twice  the  heed  to  the  impudent 
sallies  of  Morgan  that  they  did  to  the  more 
important  but  less  entertaining  views  of  the 
hero. 

"  Mr.  Morgan  disappoints  me  very  much,"  she 
whispered  to  Channing  once.  "  He  falls  in  with 
every  breeze  of  nonsense  that  blows  along  the 
veranda." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Edith,"  said  Channing,  "  Mor- 
gan is  trying  to  get  down  to  their  level.  Most  of 
the  time  he  is  poking  fun  at  them." 

"  Mr.  Morgan  may  feel  at  home  in  their 
depths,"  she  answered,  earnestly.  "  I  am  sure 
you  could  not." 

The  subjects  thrashed  out  by  the  veranda 
meetings  were  never  by  any  chance  uplifting,  nor 
were  they  handled  with  sincerity.  Indolence  is 
a  foe  to  wisdom,  and  it  was  because  he  guessed 
the  embarrassment  they  would  cause  that  Morgan 
tried  daily  to  launch  abstract  topics.  He  was 
always  discouraged,  but  one  morning  he  involved 
the  company  in  the  most  profound  snarl  that  his 
soul  could  long  for. 

Rising  to  his  feet  he  looked  about  him  solemnly. 
"  At  one  time  or  another,"  he  began,  "  we  have 
reviewed  every  question  that  might  interest 


301 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

society,  yet  during  all  that  time  we  have  neglected 
the  one  problem  which  occupies  more  attention 
than  any  other." 

"Love?"  queried  several  auditors. 

"  Not  at  all.  Love  has  nothing  to  do  with  this 
question.  I  mean  marriage."  Then,  knowing 
that  he  had  fired  the  train,  he  sat  down.  A  hub- 
bub of  voices  sounded  at  once. 

"  Marriage  is  a  matter  of  self-defence ! " 
"Marriage  is  the  penalty  of  civilisation!" 
"  Have  you  any  substitute  handy?  "  they  volleyed, 
and  Morgan  rose  again. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  echoing  the  satire  of 
the  music  halls,"  he  said.  "  I  had  hoped  for 
serious  review  of  a  dreadfully  serious  subject. 
By  the  way,  why  is  it  that  any  theatre  audience 
will  applaud  a  shot  at  matrimony  ?  " 

"  Because  the  majority  of  theatre-goers  are 
married  people !  "  "  Because  they  would  like  to 
say  the  same  things,  only  they  never  thought  of 
them !  "  came  random  answers. 

"  That  is  possibly  so,"  said  Morgan,  "  but  why 
are  there  not  dissenters?  One-half  the  audience 
should  hiss?  " 

"  They  don't  want  to  —  they  believe  it  is  true," 
chirped  a  woman  notoriously  well  married. 


302 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  The  dissenting  half  don't  dare  to  admit  their 
contentment,"  ventured  Royer. 

"  There  isn't  any  dissenting  half,"  cried  sev- 
eral, and  then  there  was  laughter  and  a  chorus  of 
applause. 

"  There  you  see,"  said  Morgan,  gravely,  "  you 
are  imitating  the  audience.  This  is  a  most  inter- 
esting subject,  and  I  believe  the  only  way  in  which 
any  light  can  be  gained  is  for  pleaders  to  champion 
the  issues.  I  will  myself  attack  marriage,  because, 
knowing  nothing  about  it,  I  can  imagine  the 
worst.  Who  will  defend  ?  " 

No  one  replied.  The  laughter  was  general. 
Finally  Edith,  who  sat  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
group  with  Captain  Channing,  rose  and  bowed 
to  the  self-constituted  chairman.  Her  face  was 
white,  and  a  curious  brilliancy  of  the  eyes  told 
of  a  gravity  all  astray  from  the  mood  of  the 
others.  The  importance  of  the  debate  had  pushed 
aside  her  timidity. 

"  I  will  not  let  the  argument  go  by  default," 
she  said,  bravely.  "  I  am  as  well  equipped  as 
Mr.  Morgan  in  the  matter  of  ignorance.  It  is, 
therefore,  a  contest  of  imagination." 

"  That  is  better  so,"  replied  Morgan;  "  no  one 
marriage  is  like  another.  Our  views  are  uncol- 


303 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

cured.  We  can  be  idealistic.  A  married  person 
would  interpret  the  whole  institution  by  his  or 
her  experience."  The  auditors  settled  back  ex- 
pectantly. 

"  We  cannot  consider  special  cases,"  continued 
Morgan,  sonorously ;  "  we  must  use  as  our  text 
the  very  question  why  a  theatre  audience  always 
applauds  any  speech  in  discredit  of  marriage.  It 
would  argue  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  happy 
marriage,  because  those  who  combat  the  senti- 
ment are  quite  as  much  at  liberty  to  dissent  as  are 
the  others  to  applaud.  Is  it  not  possible,  then, 
that  marriage  is  overrated?  Instead  of  seeing  it 
as  a  bond  of  affection,  are  we  not  educated  to 
believe  it  a  material  paradise  where  joy  reigns 
and  sorrow  cannot  enter  in  ?  Recall  how  the  fairy 
tales  end  —  '  and  they  lived  happily  ever  after  '  — 
in  other  words  they  were  married.  How  absurd 
that  sounds !  Look  back  at  the  divorce  record  of 
a  week;  dissect  the  fearful  statistics.  Think  of 
the  thousand  and  one  causes,  each  and  all  some 
infamy  or  failure  of  conduct.  Is  the  basic  princi- 
ple of  marriage  right?  Why  should  men  and 
women  be  forced  to  live  together  when  incom- 
patibility shows  they  should  dwell  apart?  Why 
should  men  and  women  who  wish  separation  be 
forced  to  a  slavery  of  contact,  or  else  break  a  law 

304 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

to  escape?  It  is  mandatory  that,  no  matter  how 
uncongenial,  they  must  stay  together  or  face  the 
shame  of  a  court.  How  many  gentle  souls  have 
withered  and  died  rather  than  take  the  legal  way 
out?  How  much  sorrow  has  been  borne?  How 
many  lives  have  been  wrecked  because  men  and 
women  tried  to  live  up  to  impossible  conditions? 
Think  how  few  chances  there  are  for  happiness 
in  marriage.  Responsibility  grows  irksome, 
beauty  fades  and  passion  dies,  wisdom  is  yoked 
to  ignorance,  jealousy  dogs  the  footsteps,  and 
cruelty  springs  from  familiarity.  I  am  not  now 
speaking  of  the  marriages  of  passion.  Their 
number  is  legion  —  they  always  find  their  cure. 
But  think  of  the  unions  designed  to  hold  and  make 
fast  real  affection.  These  are  sought  honestly, 
yet  they  too  furnish  their  percentage  to  the  courts, 
and  the  principals  mean  well  and  try  hard.  Does 
it  not  show  that  we  are  substituting  an  artificial 
plan  for  a  natural  one?  Are  we  not  imposing 
greater  burdens  than  humanity  can  bear?  If  we 
are,"  wound  up  Morgan,  jestingly,  "  what  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

Edith  leaped  up  quickly. 

"  The  secret  of  your  calamities,"  she  cried,  "  is 
lack  of  affection.  The  remedy  for  unhappy  mar- 
riage is  love."  She  sat  down  abruptly. 

305 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  "  asked  Morgan, 
wonderingly. 

"  It  is  all  that  is  necessary,"  replied  Edith. 

A  sudden  hush  fell  on  the  laughing  group. 
They  seemed  to  realise  that  Edith  had  bowled 
Morgan  over  in  one  sentence  more  surely  than 
with  showers  of  argument.  Truth  informed  her 
utterance  and  made  it  strong.  To  some  the 
remedy  was  known,  to  others  only  inferred.  But 
to  none  had  it  come  with  such  appealing  force. 
Love  the  cure?  Why,  certainly,  and  not  the  cure 
alone  but  the  preventative,  which  was  better  than 
cure.  If  love  measured  the  trials  of  marriage, 
if  love  tempered  intercourse,  if  love  clasped  hand 
with  duty  and  defied  discord,  why  —  with  one 
impulse  the  whole  company  voiced  its  applause. 

"  Morgan,  you  are  beaten !  "  they  cried. 

"  You  did  not  take  love  into  your  calculations." 

"  Marriage  without  love  is  a  self-swindle." 

"  If  people  mistake  interest  for  affection  no 
wonder  they  fail.  It  is  not  the  fault  of  marriage." 

"  Let  us  all  resolve  to  fall  in  love  with  our 
wives." 

So  they  rattled  on,  and  Morgan,  who  saw  Edith 
moving  off  down  the  walk  with  Channing,  sighed. 

"  I  have  to  admit,"  he  answered,  "  that  I  denied 


306 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

love  as  a  factor.  I  ought  to  have  known  better 
myself." 

Channing  praised  Edith  warmly.  "  You  were 
splendid,"  he  laughed.  "  I  don't  suppose  any  of 
the  company  thought  of  love  as  the  corner-stone, 
and  poor  old  Morgan  was  floored.  You  see  he 
is  a  cynic,  and  cynics  are  always  one-sided." 

Edith  looked  at  Channing  with  shining  eyes. 
"  I  believed  what  I  said,"  she  replied,  quietly. 
"  Marriage  with  love  is  the  way  God  intended  it." 

"  You  regard  marriage  then  as  a  higher  friend- 
ship." 

"  Well,  hardly  that.  Friendship  is  material ; 
love,  real  love,  I  mean,  the  kind  that  should  bring 
marriage,  is  spiritual." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  that  from  friendship 
may  spring  the  most  enduring  love?  Is  it  right 
that  the  chance  for  growth  should  be  denied?  " 

"  It  is  a  doubtful  experiment." 

"  Well,  let  us  suppose  that  two  good  friends 
were  forced  to  a  decision  —  parting  or  marriage. 
Don't  you  think  they  are  justified  in  chancing 
the  mutations  ?  " 

"  It  is  possible  that  love  might  flourish  in  pre- 
pared soil.  It  is  also  possible  that  the  bond  of 
mere  friendship  could  not  withstand  a  strain. 


307 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Marriage,  you  know,  is  very  intricate.  For  my 
part,  I  believe  in  affinity,  in  the  spiritual  essence. 
I  would  prefer  a  mutuality  of  heart,  even  to  start 
with." 

"But  would  you  make  it  a  condition?"  he 
insisted,  curiously.  "  A  wife  may  fall  in  love 
with  her  husband." 

A  sudden  flame  lit  up  Edith's  cheeks,  and  she 
looked  at  him  with  shy,  wavering  eyes. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  if  the  man  were  worthy 
the  trial.  If  he  were  good  and  kind  and  brave  I 
might  try.  Almost  any  woman  would." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Edith  could  not 
guess  the  purpose  of  his  queries,  but  a  small  hope 
found  life  in  her  heart,  and  had  spoken  to  him 
in  her  answer.  She  realised  that  for  her  the 
friendship  of  which  he  talked  had  given  place 
to  something  new  and  strangely  wonderful,  that 
her  heart  had  been  touched,  and  that  from  the 
very  unfamiliarity  of  its  signs  this  new  emotion 
was  love.  If  Channing  had  meant  that  they 
should  try  life  together,  that  he,  the  lover,  should 
convert  her,  the  friend,  then  both  of  them  had 
misinterpreted.  Edith  could  hardly  believe  that 
this  was  so.  The  record  of  their  acquaintance  was 
clear.  On  Channing's  part,  at  least,  it  had  been 
prosaic,  and  if  any  one's  heart  lay  on  a  coat  sleeve 
308 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

it  had  been  hers  alone.  His  query  puzzled  her 
while  it  gave  delight. 

In  their  long  stroll  down  the  walk  she  reviewed 
his  words  again  and  again.  At  one  time  they 
struck  her  as  philosophic,  at  another  as  merely 
casual,  but  in  either  case  they  had  a  personal  ring 
which  flooded  her  soul.  If  he  regarded  her  as 
a  subject  for  conquest  it  meant  that  she  held  in 
reserve  a  sweet  surprise. 

Channing  hardly  suspected  the  winds  of  promise 
he  had  fanned.  He,  too,  reviewed  his  speech,  and 
while  he  saw  it  was  a  straight  road  to  a  declara- 
tion, he  did  not  believe  Edith  would  note  its 
import  at  all.  He  was  not  ready  to  call  his 
admiration  love,  and  in  his  own  mind  he  set  down 
his  queries  to  curiosity  stirred  by  the  debate.  He 
left  her  at  the  club-house  to  join  a  stag  boating 
party  on  the  Sound,  and  the  strange  shine  in  her 
eyes,  the  caressing  quality  of  her  smile  when  she 
said  adieu,  appealed  to  him  for  the  first  time  as 
possible  legacies  of  their  talk.  He  tried  to  test 
the  suspicion. 

"  Your  readiness  to  experiment,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile,  "  would  suffer  in  our  service.  You  would 
hardly  see  enough  of  a  husband  to  fall  in  love 
with  him." 

Edith  smiled  at  him  kindly. 

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A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  It  is  a  part  of  love  to  be  patient  —  with  a 
soldier's  wife  it  is  a  duty,"  she  replied. 

Edith  made  a  tour  of  the  links  and  scored 
wretchedly.  One  round  was  enoug-h,  and  she 
retired  to  the  porch,  where  she  made  quite  as  vain 
an  effort  at  reading.  She  felt  lonely.  Then  she 
sent  a  messenger  to  Bellamore  for  an  automobile, 
and  experienced  relief  when,  instead  of  a  servant, 
the  machine  whirled  up  in  charge  of  Morgan.  He 
was  full  of  repentance. 

"  Let  me  play  chauffeur,"  he  said,  gaily,  "  and 
I  will  atone  for  my  heresy.  You  know  I  am  not 
so  opposed  to  marriage,  after  all.  I  never  could 
be  with  you.  As  it  was,  you  scored." 

"How  so?"  asked  Edith,  falling  in  with  his 
mood. 

"  Well,  you  made  all  the  single  men  feel  their 
mistake.  Also  you  comforted  the  benedicts. 
Anything  that  does  that  is  real  charity." 

"  I  see  you  are  only  half  converted." 

"  Then  you  should  finish  the  task.  You  can  do 
it,  you  know  —  personally  conducted." 

They  were  rolling  along  the  road  that  skirted 
the  Sound,  and  Edith  forgot  his  banter  in  watch- 
ing the  sparkling  highway.  She  sought  out  the 
spots  where  sails  marked  the  progress  of  yachts, 


310 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

and  her  eyes  dwelt  on  one  familiar  patch  in 
reverie.  Morgan  was  not  discouraged. 

"  I  don't  blame  your  abstraction,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  do  wish  you  would  listen  while  1  make  a  pro- 
posal. It  is  very  embarrassing  to  say  the  thing 
over  twice." 

Edith  smiled.     "What  proposal?"  she  asked. 

"  Why,  the  usual  proposal.  I  want  to  assure 
you  that  I  was  very  insincere  this  morning." 

"  Well,  you  were  interesting." 

"  Yes,  possibly,  but  I  want  to  prove  how  little 
I  fear  my  own  phantoms.  I  am  quite  willing  to 
be  married." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  be  happy." 

"  Neither  do  I  if  I  can  be  assured  of  your 
receipt." 

"  You  ought  to  know  your  own  heart." 

"  So  I  do,"  he  answered,  with  eagerness.  "  I 
do  not  know  yours."  She  turned  to  face  him  with 
a  look  of  extreme  surprise. 

"  I  mean  it,  Edith,"  he  hurried  on.  "  I  am 
quite  serious.  I  implore  you  to  believe  me.  Can 
you  not  promise  to  teach  me  —  to  let  me  teach  you 
your  own  sweet  lesson  of  happiness.  Is  it  —  is 
it  —  beyond  your  heart  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  full  moment.    Then, 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

with  a  singular  agitation,  three  parts  anxiety,  she 
spoke. 

"  Tell  me,  Lieutenant,"  she  asked,  "  has  there 
been  anything  in  my  actions  which  suggested  to 
you  encouragement  ?  " 

"  Nothing.    It  is  a  matter  of  adventure." 

"  Thank  God !  "  she  gasped,  with  quick  relief. 
"I  —  you  —  I  was  thinking  of  my  sister  Beatrice. 
I  have  so  often  reproached  her  for  the  crime  — 
I  would  not  care  to  be  myself  guilty.  For  the 
rest  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  sorry.  I  know  you 
will  forgive  my  failure  to  second  your  wishes.  I 
am  grateful,  the  compliment  is  kind,  but  —  " 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  Edith,"  interrupted 
Morgan,  quietly.  "  One  cannot  quarrel  with 
Fate.  As  it  stands,  I  am  very  much  your  debtor." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  cannot  love  you,"  she 
said,  impulsively.  "  You  are  everything  that  a 
man  should  be." 

"  Except  a  good  lover,"  he  replied,  lightly. 

"  I  am  not  even  sure  of  that.  It  is  my  first 
proposal." 

"  Which  smashes  another  adage  —  first  come, 
first  served." 

"  Second   thoughts   are  always  best,"   quoted 
Edith,  soothingly.     "  You  make  it  very  easy  for 
me,  Lieutenant.     I  thank  you  sincerely." 
312 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  am  making  it  easy  for  myself.  I  do  not 
care  to  say  what  I  am  suffering." 

"  Console  yourself  by  thinking  of  my  poor 
judgment.  I  believe  with  nine  women  out  of 
ten  you  would  be  accepted  gladly." 

"  Do  not  flatter  me,  Edith.  It  does  not  sound 
like  you,  and  it  is  not  needed.  I  am  more  your 
friend  than  ever.  The  captain  has  a  heavy  wind 
to  beat  home  in,  has  he  not?  " 

"  Is  that  the  Nortna?  I  trust  he  is  perfectly 
safe." 

"  For  your  sake  I  trust  that  he  is." 


313 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


^•yAPPINESS  crowned  Edith's  days  and 

I    I     nights.    Happiness  spoke  from  her  eyes 

and    dwelt    in   her    words    and    deeds. 

Doubt  had  disappeared.     She  loved.    That  small 

flame  lit  at  the  altar  of  her  ideals  glowed  now 

strong  and  high  and  pure,  and  bathed  heart  and 

soul  in  its  radiance.    The  gray  hand  of  death  had 

stirred  the  embers.     She  had  been  yachting  with 

Channing  when  the  accident  occurred  that  welded 

into  romance  the  fragments  of  sentiment. 

Early  in  the  summer  a  fine  catboat  had  been 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  guests  as  a  fore- 
runner of  the  steam  yacht.  It  became  a  popular 
plaything,  and  because  of  rumoured  skill  Chan- 
ning was  made  skipper.  Morgan  fell  into  place 
as  chief  mate.  Marine  picnics  became  a  standard 
outing,  and  the  cruises  were  varied  by  runs  along 
the  shore  with  al  fresco  spreads  on  the  grassy 
tables  of  the  glades.  Afloat  or  ashore  these  excur- 
sions had  for  Edith  a  perpetual  charm.  She  liked 
to  sit  and  watch  the  skipper  play  hide  and  seek 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

with  the  winds,  and  sometimes  she  would  herself 
take  the  wheel  and  luff,  come  about,  and  travel 
before  the  breeze,  happily  conscious  all  the  time 
that  Channing  noted  her  dainty  seamanship.  Then 
when  she  wearied  of  this  Morgan  was  always 
there  to  relieve  the  deck,  and  she  would  go  and 
talk  over  with  Channing  all  the  shifts  and 
variations  of  the  run. 

One  brilliant  morning  they  were  beating  up  the 
Sound  in  a  humming  breeze,  and  Morgan  was  at 
the  wheel.  The  waves  were  thumping  the  counter 
and  cascading  the  half-buried  lee  rail,  and  at  every 
dip  into  the  smother  the  deck  was  swept  with  a 
volley  of  spoondrift.  So  heavy  was  the  lean  of 
the  hull  that  the  company  had  to  cling  to  the 
elevated  weather  side,  and  Morgan's  every  second 
was  occupied  in  persistent  luffing.  Channing  had 
just  risen  and  seized  the  sheet  to  drop  the  peak 
when  a  savage  gust  ripped  the  big  mainsail  and 
heeled  the  boat  over  until  the  water  gushed  into 
the  cockpit.  It  was  only  a  second's  spill,  for 
Morgan  brought  her  into  the  wind  in  one  jamming 
thrust  of  the  wheel,  and  saving  a  jibe  had  the 
staggering  craft  on  her  course  again,  but  the  dip 
had  sufficed  to  shake  Edith  from  her  balance  and 
hurl  her  out  of  her  seat.  When  she  felt  herself 
plunging  down  the  slanting  deck  she  clutched 

315 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

wildly  at  the  edge  of  the  cockpit.  The  angle  was 
too  great,  and  the  next  instant  she  had  gone  over 
the  side.  Channing  saw  her  falling  and  realised 
that  the  boat  must  instantly  race  far  away  before 
coming  about.  He  followed  her  in  a  single  bound. 
When  he  rose  he  saw  fifty  feet  away  the  despair- 
ing signal  of  a  hand,  and  he  went  after  the  sinking 
girl  with  all  the  speed  and  power  that  he  could 
summon.  It  was  a  desperate  piece  of  swimming. 
The  waves  boiled  and  pounded  into  his  face,  and 
he  felt  the  handicap  of  clothing  with  every  stroke. 
He  reached  her  to  find  her  beating  the  waves  with 
unpractised  hands  and  blindly  fighting  to  stay 
the  last  awful  plunge.  Death  looked  out  of  her 
eyes.  When  he  slipped  his  arm  about  her  she 
became  quiet. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  she  gasped,  and  even  in 
the  smothered  whisper  there  was  confidence. 

"  Lie  flat  on  your  back,"  he  answered,  "  and  I 
will  support  you  with  my  left  hand.  It  is  our 
only  chance." 

She  obeyed  instantly,  and  even  assisted  him 
by  a  downward  sweep  of  the  arms.  With  Chan- 
ning it  was  a  frightful  struggle.  He  could  see 
the  yacht  sweeping  down  before  the  wind,  but 
he  knew  the  battle  was  to  be  measured  by  seconds 


316 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

only,  and  the  cruel  play  of  the  waves  in  his  face 
exhausted  him  quite  as  much  as  the  strain  on  his 
limbs.  Every  instant  he  expected  collapse. 
Lights  played  before  his  eyes  and  his  breath  came 
in  heart-breaking  gasps,  when  he  heard  suddenly 
the  hissing  fall  of  a  rope,  and  felt  the  strand 
strike  him  squarely  across  the  shoulders.  The 
yacht  lay  head  on  to  the  wind  about  five  yards 
behind  them,  her  canvas  echoing  with  every  leap 
of  the  hull.  Morgan  stood  in  the  bow  handling 
the  rope  and  calling  directions  to  the  wheel. 

As  soon  as  Channing  grasped  the  rope  the  yacht 
filled  and  forged  up  alongside  the  swimmer. 
Then  she  came  into  the  wind  again,  and  Morgan 
and  his  companions  took  in  the  slack  of  the  rope 
hand  over  hand.  Channing  slipped  his  arm  about 
the  now  unconscious  Edith,  and  they  were  slowly 
towed  to  the  yacht's  side. 

The  accident,  with  its  climax  of  thrilling  rescue, 
caused  a  great  stir  at  Bellamore.  Beatrice  was 
mortified  that  for  once  she  had  missed  the  lime- 
light, but  she  proceeded  to  get  out  of  it  all  the 
reflected  glory  that  was  to  be  had.  She  gave  Mrs. 
Jewett  Edith's  best  photographs,  and  detailed  her 
to  meet  the  correspondents,  while  she  and  Gotham 
collaborated  on  a  strong  story  for  the  Age.  Not 


317 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

the  least  emphasised  point  of  this  story  was  the 
fact  that  the  half-drowned  heiress  was  a  sister 
of  Beatrice  Cameron. 

"  Barring  the  inconvenience  to  Miss  Edith,  this 
affair  is  downright  lucky,"  observed  Gotham. 
"  Channing,  remember,  is  already  a  well-known 
figure,  and  you  are  his  hostess.  I  wish  we  had 
a  picture  of  the  yacht  and  a  diagram  map." 

"  Why  the  map  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  Well,  you  see  we  could  fill  it  full  of  little 
Maltese  crosses  marked  —  Here  is  where  Miss 
Cameron  went  overboard  —  Point  at  which  the 
rescue  was  effected  —  Point  where  the  yacht  came 
about.  It  gives  the  story  a  finish,  you  know." 

"  That's  so.  Telegraph  your  office  to  draw 
one  from  description." 

"  I'll  do  it.  We'll  make  this  a  two-column 
feature." 

Edith  lay  twenty-four  hours  under  the  care 
of  a  doctor  and  trained  nurses,  fighting  her  slow 
way  out  of  the  shadow  of  death.  When  she  could 
remember,  she  sent  for  Captain  Channing  and 
tried  to  thank  him.  It  was  restrained,  and,  to  her, 
unsatisfactory,  for  her  wish  was  to  throw  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  press  her  lips  to  his 
brow.  A  little  of  her  mood  escaped  censorship. 

"  You  are  my  hero  again,"  she  whispered,  "  my 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

hero  now,  and  not  the  nation's."  He  searched  for 
some  innocuous  gallantry. 

"  Then  the  nation  loses  nothing,  and  I  gain 
everything,"  he  said. 

"  I  had  resigned  myself  to  die  when  you  came," 
she  continued.  "  I  think  that  with  any  other 
man  I  should  have  failed  in  the  struggle." 

"  I  will  not  believe  that.  Yours  was  a  gallant 
contest,"  he  stammered.  This  was  disconcerting. 

:<  You  inspired  me,"  she  insisted.  "  It  was  your 
voice  in  my  ear  and  your  hand  on  my  arm  that 
told  me  to  hope.  Fear  cannot  live  in  your  pres- 
ence. My  life  is  yours.  I  consider  that  so  far 
as  may  be  it  should  be  dedicated  to  your  interests." 
Channing  felt  the  electric  atmosphere.  He  tried 
to  tone  her  ardour. 

"  You  will  undertake  no  such  contract  as  that," 
he  laughed ;  "  we  may  never  meet  again  after  I 
leave." 

"  I  shall  not  follow  you  to  the  wars,"  she  said, 
smiling  responsively,  "  but  you  can  hardly  escape 
my  gratitude  this  side  the  firing  line.  You  must 
reap  what  you  sow." 

Their  association  after  the  accident  was  even 
closer  than  before.  It  gave  the  romance  builders 
of  the  veranda  food  for  thought.  They  noted 
the  caress  of  Edith's  manner,  the  way  in  which 

319 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

she  claimed  Channing's  society,  and  several  aston- 
ished observers  left  Bellamore  convinced  that  she 
was  making  love  in  the  most  abandoned  fashion. 
Her  honesty  was  Edith's  guard.  She  did  not 
dream  of  criticism,  because  she  saw  no  reason 
for  it.  Her  passion  took  the  form  of  exalted 
friendship,  and  it  was  so  true  and  so  pure  that  she 
gave  no  thought  to  outside  impressions. 

Charming  had  come  still  further  beneath  the 
spell  of  her  warm,  if  subdued,  regard.  He  was 
beginning  to  surrender  to  its  charm,  and  he  did 
not  shrink  from  the  possibilities.  If  his  own  heart 
waxed  plastic  to  her  gentle  moulding,  he  would 
accept  it  as  a  desirable  outcome. 

Meantime  Edith  was  happy  as  the  butterfly  is 
happy.  She  dealt  in  dreams  and  permitted  hope 
to  paint  on  the  canvas  of  the  future.  One  by 
one  the  troubles  of  the  household  circle,  the 
phantoms  of  the  winter,  and  the  torturing  fears 
of  Beatrice's  coquetries  dropped  away.  She 
became  selfish  in  her  abstraction,  and  forgetful. 
It  was  a  festival  time  of  smiles. 

At  the  very  high  noon  of  her  summer  day  Mrs. 
Jewett,  friend  and  defender,  the  one,  the  only 
henchman  of  her  happiness,  invoked  the  storm 
cloud. 


320 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

She  called  Beatrice's  attention  to  Edith's  joy. 

It  was  the  dooming  of  her  vision. 

"  My  little  girl  lives  on  a  mountain-top,"  she 
said,  fondly,  idly,  "  and  I  think  Channing  is  pre- 
paring to  follow  her  up.  He  is  a  fool  to  delay." 

They  were  seated  alone  on  the  veranda. 
Channing  and  Edith  were  walking  down  a  sunlit 
path  that  wound  away  to  the  hill  overlooking  the 
Sound.  Mrs.  Jewett  followed  them  with  her 
eyes. 

"  Edith  loves  him  wonderfully,"  she  went  on, 
"  and  I  cannot  imagine  what  induces  him  to 
stand  off.  He  will  never  get  another  woman  to 
view  him  so  —  at  least,  not  another  like  Edith. 
The  man  must  be  an  egotist." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Edith  is  infatuated  with 
Captain  Channing?"  asked  Beatrice,  curiously. 
"  Edith  has  never  loved  anything  in  her  life  except 
cats  and  beggars." 

"  She  has  discovered  her  heart." 

"  I  had  regarded  it  as  a  hand-in-hand  enter- 
prise. I  have  been  busy  with  Royer,  you  know. 
Tell  me  more." 

"  She  has  burned  her  bridges  behind  her.  I 
dread  to  think  of  a  lack  of  reciprocity." 

"  Do  you  think  this  is  a  gamble  ?  Has  she  no 
assurance?  " 

321 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  How  could  she?  There  has  been  no  calcula- 
tion, nothing  ordinary  or  regular.  She  has  given 
him  her  whole  heart,  hoping  apparently  that  he 
might  find  it  well  to  exchange.  I  pray  he  may. 
She  deserves  it." 

"  He  is  a  very  remarkable  man,"  observed 
Beatrice,  absently. 

"  Very  courageous,  you  mean.  If  he  were 
remarkable  he  would  be  sensible,  and  if  he  were 
sensible  he  would  marry  Edith  in  a  moment." 

"  I  confess  I  cannot  see  your  penchant  for 
Edith.  She  is  a  colourless  sort  of  girl." 

"  Hers  are  the  neutral  tints.  You  can  imagine 
they  are  very  appealing  to  one  dazzled  by  scarlet." 

"  Why  does  he  not  seek  an  affinity  ?  A  man 
of  such  gallantry  should  demand  a  stronger 
nature." 

"  I  am  surprised  you  admit  his  virtues,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Jewett,  suspiciously.  "  You  were 
very  apathetic." 

"  That  rescue  converted  me.  I  have  become 
interested." 

"  You  are  starting  late,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
coldly.  '  To  Edith  belong  any  discoveries  that 
can  be  made.  I  advise  you  to  keep  hands  off." 

Beatrice  laughed  unpleasantly.    "  In  the  begin- 


322 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

ning,"  she  said,  "  I  had  some  trouble  keeping  his 
hands  off.  He  cannot  have  changed  so  greatly." 

Mrs.  Jewett  glared  at  her  in  open  alarm. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  sharply. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Beatrice,  but  her  eyes 
belied  the  evasion. 

Mrs.  Jewett  bent  forward  and  tapped  Beatrice 
with  a  warning  finger. 

"  It  is  very  plain,"  she  began,  "  that  you  think 
it  would  be  a  clever  and  diverting  exploit  to  step 
in  and  attach  this  man  to  your  chariot.  It  would 
be  a  demonstration  of  that  power  you  are  so  fond 
of  using.  But,  I  implore  you,  select  some  victim 
other  than  your  sister  —  it  is  upon  her  the  annoy- 
ance, the  shame,  would  fall.  You  cannot  be  so 
cruel." 

"  You  are  philanthropic,"  mocked  Beatrice. 

"  Not  so.  I  did  not  wince  over  Trexler  and 
Holt,  but  Edith  —  why,  it  is  not  to  be  believed !  " 

"  Alice,  such  an  idea  never  occurred  to  me  until 
you  suggested  it."  Beatrice  smiled  at  the  quick 
dismay  of  her  companion's  face. 

"  Then  be  generous  and  forget,"  said  Mrs. 
Jewett,  sternly,  "  and  if  you  can't  forget,"  she 
added,  with  a  snap  of  temper,  "  consider  that  I 
am  enrolled  against  you." 

Beatrice  rocked  to  and  fro  gently. 

323 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Which  means  what?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  I  could  retail  history  for  one  thing1.  I 
believe  that  I  could  show  that  you  have  killed 
nearly  as  many  men  as  he  has." 

"  It  is  his  trade  to  face  danger." 

"  Or  I  might  claim  that  you  got  him  for  Edith 
and  feared  he  would  not  answer." 

"  That  is  crafty,  Alice,  and  very  tricky.  You 
need  not  be  afraid.  Just  at  present  I  am  busy." 

But  this  lackadaisical  assurance  did  not  reach 
Mrs.  Jewett  at  all.  She  left  the  veranda  dis- 
gusted and  alarmed.  That  she  should,  through 
lack  of  the  most  ordinary  judgment,  have  imper- 
illed Edith's  romance,  bit  into  her  conscience.  For 
the  moment  she  felt  herself  an  assassin  of  the 
girl's  hopes,  and  the  fabric  of  trouble  had  been 
woven  in  chatter  idle  and  useless.  An  enemy 
could  not  have  attacked  Edith  with  better  pros- 
pects of  success. 

Mrs.  Jewett  had  no  hope  that  Beatrice  would 
neglect  the  hint.  It  was  a  bait  to  her  perversity. 
"  The  very  fact  of  its  being  Edith,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Jewett,  "  will  induce  her  to  act.  She  cannot 
bear  the  thought  of  Edith's  success,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  she  has  already  lashed  herself  into  resent- 
ment. It  is  my  place  to  redeem  the  error." 

So  she  began  a  close  watch  for  the  first  signs 

324 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

that  might  confirm  her  fear.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  earlier  moves  to  cause  alarm.  They  con- 
sisted of  little  personal  attentions  cloaked  as  hos- 
pitality, and  so  demure  and  subtle  that  not  even 
Mrs.  Jewett  saw  their  importance.  Even  if  she 
had,  they  forbade  criticism.  They  were  quite 
within  Beatrice's  province  as  hostess.  But  Mrs. 
Jewett  was  not  long  in  doubt.  From  general 
entertainment  in  Channing's  behalf,  Beatrice 
passed  to  personal  advances.  She  took  him  on 
walks  along  the  shore,  opposed  him  charmingly 
on  the  links,  went  yachting,  and  one  by  one 
usurped  the  routine  formerly  assigned  to  Edith. 
It  was  done  smoothly,  and  Edith  hardly  felt  the 
pressure  of  the  hand  which  pushed  her  aside. 
Indeed,  she  went  so  far  as  to  thank  her  sister  for 
her  belated  interest. 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  pay  so  much  attention  to 
Captain  Channing,"  she  said.  "  He  seems  to 
enjoy  every  moment  of  his  stay.  I  know  he  is 
grateful." 

And  in  very  fact  he  seemed  to  appreciate  the 
offerings  as  special  generosity.  His  response  was 
marked.  Mrs.  Jewett  noticed  it  long  before  Edith, 
and  it  gave  her  an  insight  as  to  the  quarter  from 
which  the  break  might  come.  Her  analysis  was 
damning. 

325 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Edith  did  all  this  in  the  beginning,"  she 
reasoned,  "  and  won  a  kindly  smile.  Beatrice 
moves,  and  he  discovers  for  the  first  time  he  is 
being  entertained.  Poor  Edith !  " 

It  was  Mrs.  Jewett,  frantic  now  with  reproach, 
who  turned  on  the  light.  She  told  Edith  the  truth 
with  bald,  inflaming  detail,  painted  Beatrice  as  a 
plotter,  and  begged  her  to  fight  for  Channing,  not 
as  a  matter  of  sentiment  but  as  a  protest  of  out- 
raged confidence.  Before  going  to  Edith  she 
made  sure  of  her  facts  by  a  curious  stratagem, 
using  the  roulette  wheel  as  a  medium,  and  Morgan 
as  her  informant.  Morgan  was  one  of  the  few 
guests  who  dodged  the  lure  of  the  coloured  board. 
His  love  was  the  open  air.  Therefore,  when  Mrs. 
Jewett  begged  for  a  brush  he  scented  a  hidden 
interest.  It  looked  like  a  subterfuge.  When  his 
guess  was  verified  he  was  glad. 

"  You  play  croupier,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  lightly, 
"  and  I  will  woo  the  tiger.  I  want  fifty  dollars' 
worth  of  chips.  The  game  I  am  playing  is 
worth  it." 

"Which  game?"  said  Morgan,  blandly. 

Mrs.  Jewett  smiled  like  a  child.  "  Roulette,  of 
course,"  she  said. 

Morgan's  use  of  the  marble  was  erratic  and 
clumsy,  but  it  sufficed  to  beat  Mrs.  Jewett  at 
326 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

every  bet  she  laid  down.  When  half  of  the  fifty 
was  missing  she  suddenly  swept  her  chips 
together  on  the  red. 

"That,"  she  said,  "is  Edith!" 

Morgan  nodded  and  pushed  his  winnings  on 
the  black. 

"  It  is  pure  formality,  of  course,  as  I  must 
bet  black,"  he  remarked,  "  but  that  represents 
Beatrice." 

He  whirled  the  marble  on  its  fitful  course.  It 
sped  around  and  around  as  though  eager  to  pro- 
long the  suspense. 

"  Why  did  you  take  red  ?  "  asked  Morgan,  curi- 
ously. 

"  Because  it  was  not  black." 

"  You  thought  Miss  Cameron  entitled  to  her 
personal  shade?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  responded,  crisply,  and  watched  the 
marble.  The  little  sphere  left  its  tilted  shelf, 
bounded  here  and  there  against  the  compartments, 
and  finally  settled  in  one  niche  with  a  bump. 

"  Black !  "  observed  Morgan. 

Mrs.  Jewett  rose  and  looked  at  the  marble. 

"  Black!  "  she  cried.     "  It  is  like  fate!  " 

"  It  is  fate,"  he  answered. 

She  settled  back,  her  face  grave  and  her  glance 
plainly  anxious. 

327 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Why  are  you  so  sure?  "  she  queried. 

"  The  marble  says  so." 

"  I  respect  your  opinion  more." 

"  I  cannot  see  any  other  outcome,  and  mind 
you,  I  love  Edith  myself,  and  it  is  heart-breaking 
to  think  so." 

"  Does  Beatrice  love  Channing  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  is  not  material.  I  believe 
Channing  loves  Beatrice." 

"  Then  his  only  reason  for  neglecting  Beatrice 
was  her  own  attitude.  With  encouragement  he 
commits  himself." 

"  Quite  so.  If  she  had  let  them  alone  I  believe 
in  time  Channing  would  have  returned  Edith's 
love.  He  could  not  have  withstood  such  affection. 
Now  he  will  never  go  back." 

Mrs.  Jewett  listened  to  the  measured  words  in 
distress.  Her  responsibility  took  on  shapes  of 
dread.  She  stammered  dissent. 

"  You  take  no  account  of  honour,"  she  pleaded, 
"  nor  of  manliness  and  gratitude.  He  cannot 
permit  himself  an  infamy  like  that." 

"  His  obligations  are  second  to  his  senses. 
Even  if  this  were  not  so,  I  doubt  whether  Chan- 
ning is  committed  to  Edith.  What  can  halt 
him?" 

Mrs.  Jewett  flushed  wrathfully. 
328 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

;<  You  and  I  may  for  one  thing,"  she  sug- 
gested. "  Edith  is  diffident  and  helpless.  You 
must  convert  your  friend  while  I  do  what  I  can 
to  force  Edith  to  fight." 

Morgan  clicked  the  chips  together  absently. 
"  You  are  setting  me  a  hard  task,"  he  observed. 
"  I  am  to  attack  an  infatuated  man  with  argu- 
meht.  We  cannot  succeed." 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  any  chance  of  my 
making  love  to  Captain  Channing?  " 

"What!" 

"  I  say  do  you  believe  if  I  threw  myself  at  his 
head  it  would  divert  him  long  enough  to  defeat 
Beatrice?" 

Morgan  surveyed  his  companion  in  astonish- 
ment. But  she  answered  his  look  with  a  poise  that 
was  a  challenge.  It  boasted  of  power.  And  as 
he  ran  his  eyes  over  her  tall,  graceful  figure,  her 
perfect  modelling,  and  the  strong,  beautiful  face, 
youthful  and  yet  illumined  with  knowledge,  he 
could  not  doubt  that  many  and  many  a  man  would 
welcome  the  favour  of  such  a  woman. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  tried  you  might  complicate  matters," 
he  replied,  admiringly,  "  but  I  do  not  see  why 
we  should  hatch  any  more  trouble.  Remember, 


329 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

too,  that  Channing  is  my  friend.  I  would  not 
help  make  his  heart  a  football." 

"  Then  you  do  not  deny  that  I  might  do  some- 
thing if  I  tried  ?  "  she  asked.  Morgan  laughed. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  said,  bowing.  "  If  you 
threw  yourself  at  my  head  I  would  not  promise 
restraint,  and  I  am  much  colder-blooded  than 
Channing." 

Mrs.  Jewett  beamed  in  acknowledgment. 

"  Do  what  you  can,"  she  wound  up.  "  It  may 
be  that  if  his  attention  is  drawn  to  the  matter 
he  will  see  his  error.  If  not,  you  will  have  played 
a  man's  part." 

From  Morgan  Mrs.  Jewett  hurried  straight  to 
Edith.  She  did  not  believe  the  girl  appreciated  the 
situation,  and  she  did  not  intend  that  ground 
should  be  lost  through  lack  of  defence.  Edith 
would  be  so  long  awakening  that  her  chance 
might  be  gone  before  she  could  protest. 

Mrs.  Jewett  was  violent  and  pitiless. 

"  You  love  Channing,"  she  cried,  "  and  it  is 
because  she  resents  your  happiness  that  Beatrice 
interferes.  The  woman  has  been  making  love 
to  him  for  a  week.  He  belongs  to  you  and  she 
plans  a  theft." 

For  a  long  time  after  this  speech  Edith  made 
no  reply,  but  every  line  in  her  features  told  of 
330 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  shock.  They  were  seated  in  her  room  over- 
looking the  Sound,  and  she  revolved  the  charge 
in  slow,  painful  reverie  while  Mrs.  Jewett  studied 
the  shipping  and  wondered  what  she  would  say. 

"  Do  you  know  this  to  be  so,  Alice,"  she  asked 
finally,  "or  do  you  mistake  courtesy  for  flirta- 
tion?" 

"  Of  course  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett,  roughly, 
"  and  so  would  you  if  your  trust  were  not  blind- 
ness." 

"  Possibly  I  have  no  right  to  keep  a  lookout." 

"  I  insist  that  you  have.  You  are  entitled  to 
protect  yourself." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  her  motive?  " 

"  She  is  poaching." 

"  Do  you  believe  Captain  Channing  —  lo-loves 
her  ?  "  she  stammered. 

"  She  has  no  right  to  make  him.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  if  she  had  let  you  alone  he  would  in 
time  have  fallen  at  your  feet." 

Edith's  face  lit  up  happily. 

"  I  should  like  to  think  so,  Alice,"  she  said, 
wistfully.  Then  the  reserve  and  girlish  embar- 
rassment went  down  before  a  sudden  craving  to 
unroll  to  this  friend  the  scroll  of  her  dreams. 
The  need  of  help  came  upon  her  and  a  wish  for 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

sympathy,  and  she  longed  for  the  aid  of  judgment 
untouched  by  sentiment. 

"  I  do  love  him,  Alice,"  she  hurried  on,  frankly. 
"  I  love  him  so  that  my  whole  life  seems  to  have 
felt  its  influence.  We  were  so  happy  together; 
it  was  such  a  pleasure  to  have  him  near  me  that 
I  shut  out  the  future  through  joy  of  the  present. 
Beatrice  cannot  love  him.  It  simply  means  that 
she  has  marked  him  for  those  attentions  which 
have  their  rise  in  vanity  and  their  end  in  woe. 
That  is  all.  And  how  strange  it  seems,  Alice,  that 
I,  who  have  so  wished  to  save  others,  should  fall 
under  this  very  same  blight.  Virtue  is  again  called 
upon  to  reward  itself." 

"  You  take  it  too  calmly,  Edith.  You  do  not 
mean  to  step  aside?" 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  We  will  see 
whether  this  sneak  thief  of  hearts  is  not  to  be 
met  with  her  own  weapons.  You  owe  her  no 
fidelity.  She  is  a  sister  only  so  far  as  the  family 
records  go,  and  I  believe  she  hates  you,  anyhow." 

"Why,  Alice?" 

"  Because  you  are  everything  that  she  is  not, 
and  she  knows  you  despise  her  morals.  The  only 
motive  under  heaven  that  has  sent  her  after  Chan- 


332 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

ning  is  pique.  You  should  fight  her  for  this 
reason  alone." 

"  Very  well,  Alice,"  said  Edith,  quietly,  "  we 
will  fight.  If  I  find,  however,  that  Maurice's  heart 
and  not  his  senses  are  involved,  I  shall  withdraw." 

"  Certainly.  I  would  not  ask  you  to  debase 
yourself.  Only  find  out  first." 

Mrs.  Jewett  went  from  the  interview  eager  for 
conflict.  "  If  we  can  only  beat  that  miserable 
raider  this  time,"  she  murmured,  "  I  shall  die 
happy  —  or  leave  Bellamore." 

So  closely  following  the  compact  began  a  hidden 
and  deadly  struggle.  Mrs.  Jewett  led  the  fray. 
She  had  as  a  stimulus  Edith's  happiness,  but 
above  and  beyond  that  was  a  strong  desire  to 
put  down  the  devil  which  she  conceived  dwelt  in 
Beatrice's  nature.  The  long  months  of  their 
union,  barren  of  gratitude,  had  excited  in  Mrs. 
Jewett  a  disgust  which  served  now  to  spur  her  on. 
She  threw  in  Beatrice's  way  every  obstacle  she 
could  invent,  or  that  was  suggested  by  the  situa- 
tion. She  did  it,  too,  with  such  care  that  at  no  time 
was  Beatrice  in  a  position  to  demand  an  explana- 
tion. 

Edith's  aid  was  trifling.  She  seemed  never  to 
realise  that  her  sanction  of  the  war  called  for  a 
sacrifice.  Instead  of  supporting  the  general,  she 

333 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

stood  to  one  side  hoping  that  Channing's  glance 
might  rove  that  way.  Mrs.  Jewett  protested. 

"  You  should  help  me,  Edith,"  she  said.  "  I 
do  not  expect  you  to  be  forward,  but  show  him 
that  you  are  capable  of  loving.  His  nature  is 
romantic.  He  demands  an  atmosphere  of  senti- 
ment." 

"  Alice,  I  cannot,"  Edith  answered,  proudly. 
"  It  is  degrading.  He  would  despise  me." 

"  At  least,"  retorted  Mrs.  Jewett,  "  you  might 
go  as  far  as  your  sister." 

Morgan's  talk  with  Mrs.  Jewett  left  him  full 
of  a  chivalric  wish  to  assist.  He  did  not  think 
of  the  ethics,  and  he  did  not  think  of  himself. 
His  love  for  Edith  was  such  that  he  desired  her 
happiness  without  reference  to  his  own,  and  the 
mood  was  neither  heroic  nor  theatrical.  There- 
fore he  went  to  Channing  and  boldly  pleaded  her 
case.  He  sought  him  one  night  in  the  privacy 
of  his  room  and  declared  his  errand  without 
apology  or  delay. 

"  Maurice,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  in  for  a 
moment's  serious  talk.  It  will  probably  kill  our 
friendship,  but  I  am  none  the  less  determined 
that  you  shall  hear  me.  You  are  breaking  Edith's 
heart." 

Channing  flushed,  but  his  restraint  was  admi- 

334 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

rable.  He  said  nothing  and  seemed  waiting  for 
Morgan  to  go  on.  The  lieutenant  did  not  hesitate. 

"  You  are  turning  from  a  woman  who  loves 
you  to  chase  a  phantom,"  he  continued,  slowly; 
"  you  are  discarding  an  angel  for  Beatrice  Cam- 
eron —  who  —  who  is  not  an  angel.  You  have 
disappointed  me,  and  I  believe  you  have  done 
worse  by  Edith." 

Channing  looked  at  him  with  a  black  frown. 
"  May  I  ask  whom  you  represent?  "  he  queried. 

"  That  is  an  insult,  Maurice,"  replied  Morgan, 
quickly ;  "  you  do  not  mean  that.  If  Edith  knew 
I  had  spoken  of  the  matter  it  would  kill  her.  I 
am  here  on  my  own  assignment.  Let  me  be 
plain.  Edith  Cameron  loves  you,  and  you  prize 
this  wonderful  thing  so  little  that  you  can  regard 
the  coquetries  of  her  sister.  I  ask  of  you  that  you 
halt;  I  ask  of  you  that  you  do  not  pursue  an 
error  that  may  destroy  Edith  and  that  in  the 
end  will  destroy  you.  If  you  are  not  serious,  I 
have  made  a  fool  of  myself ;  but  if  you  are,  then 
you  are  the  fool,  and,  in  my  eyes,  Maurice,  almost 
a  criminal."  He  stopped,  white  and  agitated. 
Channing  walked  away  once  and  then  came  back, 
plainly  fighting  down  his  wrath.  After  an  inter- 
val he  spoke. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,  Wilbur,"  he  said,  "  but 

335 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

in  the  natural  order  of  things  I  cannot  answer. 
It  would  be  unmanly,  —  no,  worse  than  that,  it 
would  be  egotistical." 

Morgan  rose  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  dragoon  you,"  he  replied. 
"  If  you  accept  my  interference  as  a  friendly 
appeal  I  shall  be  grateful." 

"  You  can  carry  away  one  satisfaction,  Wilbur," 
said  Channing,  wearily,  "  you  have  made  me 
ashamed." 

"  I  was  sure  that  I  would." 

As  Morgan  turned  to  go,  Channing  stopped 
him.  "You  will  leave  Bellamore,  I  suppose?" 
he  asked. 

"  Of  course.  I  could  not  stay  after  what  I 
have  said.  I  shall  go  as  soon  as  it  can  be  done 
without  comment." 

When  the  door  closed  Channing's  calm  dis- 
appeared. He  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
face  clouded  and  full  of  pain.  The  lieutenant 
had  brought  out  boldly  the  lurking  problem  which 
each  day  was  making  harder  to  face.  How  could 
he  tell  another  what  he  did  not  know  himself? 
Childish  as  it  seemed,  he  was  a  plaything  of 
emotion.  One  hour  Edith  absorbed  him,  and  he 
thought  of  her  grace,  of  her  sweetness,  and  was 
filled  with  joy  at  the  knowledge  of  her  favour. 
336 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

The  next,  memory  had  fled,  and  he  was  prostrate 
before  her  sister.  He  saw  Beatrice's  deficiencies, 
but  against  her  charm  they  were  without  influence. 
It  was  the  ancient  conflict  between  the  spiritual 
and  material.  His  heart  was  a  battle-ground 
where  impulses,  pure  and  impure,  fought  for 
mastery.  He  had  been  heartily  ashamed,  but  not 
even  this  goad  had  sufficed  to  point  the  way.  At 
times  he  wondered  whether  he  had  not  always 
loved  Beatrice  and  whether  his  heart  had  merely 
awaited  the  summons.  Then  he  would  strike 
a  contrast  between  the  two  and  be  dismayed  at 
the  mere  physical  nature  of  her  appeal. 

"  I  can  only  drift,"  he  whispered,  "  drift  and 
play  feather  in  the  currents.  Edith  is  the  dearest 
of  women,  but  the  other  —  " 

Mrs.  Jewett  did  not  ask  Morgan  for  a  report. 
She  saw  gloom  in  his  face  and  guessed  that  he 
had  failed.  She  redoubled  her  efforts.  Almost 
she  made  good  her  thought  of  ensnaring  Chan- 
ning  herself.  Certainly  her  attentions  fell  little 
short  of  love-making,  and  their  tenacity  was  not 
to  be  equalled.  She  was  in  his  vision  and  at  his 
elbow.  The  long  walks  were  entrenched  upon, 
there  was  interference  with  the  rides  and  the 
yachting,  and  while  she  found  it  ever  harder  to 
involve  him  with  Edith,  she  nevertheless  diverted 

337 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

him  from  the  influence  of  her  scheming  sister. 
Beatrice  felt  the  pin-pricks  of  opposition,  but 
instead  of  a  protest  she  tried  to  match  the  moves 
and  make  strategy  do  what  might  be  less  success- 
fully accomplished  by  crude  force.  Her  success 
was  limited.  Mrs.  Jewett  thought  quicker  and 
moved  swifter,  and  she  had  the  advantage  of 
being  unsuspected  by  the  soldier. 

Mrs.  Jewett  saw  that  the  coarse  animal  spirit 
of  Beatrice  touched  in  Channing  a  responsive 
chord.  It  was  an  affinity  dependent  on  contact, 
and  this  encouraged  her  to  persevere.  Outside 
the  immediate  sphere  of  Beatrice's  influence  his 
devotion  lost  force,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Jewett's  aim 
to  keep  them  apart  as  much  as  possible.  Her 
success  in  this  direction  represented  her  success 
in  fighting  the  drift  toward  Beatrice. 

It  was  while  matters  stood  thus,  practically 
dead-locked,  that  a  brace  of  events  occurred  which 
diverted  the  rivals  and  furnished  material  for  a 
new  period  of  unrest. 


338 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


x^yOMING  from  her  room  one  morning  Edith 
f  ran  into  an  amazing  tableau.  The  door 
of  her  apartment  opened  on  a  wide  semi- 
circular landing,  and  opposite  was  the  first  room 
of  the  suite  occupied  by  her  sister.  At  the  entrance 
Beatrice  was  standing,  cold,  impassive,  but  with 
astonishment  on  every  feature.  Before  her  was 
young  Mrs.  Sloane,  strangely  attired  and  still 
more  strangely  agitated.  It  was  early  in  the  day, 
she  was  scheduled  for  a  long  visit,  yet  she  wore 
a  travelling  dress,  and  at  her  feet  rested  a  hand 
bag.  Edith  heard  her  voice  raised  in  reproach, 
and  her  hands  beat  the  air  before  Beatrice's  face 
as  she  talked. 

"  You  robbed  me,"  came  to  Edith's  ears,  "  you 
robbed  me  because  you  hated  my  happiness,  and 
both  he  and  you  conspired  to  make  this  visit  a 
cloak.  I  decline  to  be  duped.  Take  him  and  keep 
him.  I  never  want  to  see  him  again.  When  he 
gets  dismissal  I'll  finish  his  misery  with  a  divorce. 
I  never  want  to  see  him  again,  you  understand." 

339 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Beatrice,  impassively. 

"  You  don't  ?  I  think  you  lie."  Then,  on  the 
echo  of  the  speech,  Edith  saw  one  of  the  fluttering 
hands  swing  away  in  a  half-circle  and  come  back 
with  a  stinging  slap  on  Beatrice's  face.  An  ugly, 
creeping  patch,  half  crimson,  sprung  out  on  the 
white  skin.  Edith  ran  forward  with  a  cry,  but 
Beatrice  did  not  relax  her  pose  of  indifference. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  your  travelling- 
bag,"  she  said,  addressing  her  assailant,  "  because 
it  saves  me  the  trouble  of  calling  on  the  butler. 
I  think  I  will  keep  your  husband.  I  have  paid  the 
price."  Then,  with  an  incidental  glance  at  Edith, 
she  opened  the  door  behind  her  and  went  within. 

"  You  should  not  have  struck  sister,"  exclaimed 
Edith.  "What  is  the  trouble?"  Mrs.  Sloane 
turned  on  her  slowly.  The  anger,  the  resentment, 
was  crumbling  in  a  mist  of  sorrow.  She  looked 
out  of  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  Edith,"  she  whispered,  wretchedly,  "  that  is 
a  wicked  woman.  She  is  —  she  has  taken  George 
away  from  me.  She  has  separated  us  for  ever. 
And  for  what  ?  Why  ?  He  loved  me.  We  were 
happy  until  we  came  here.  I  —  "  She  broke 
down  and  sobbed  hopelessly.  Edith  looked  at  the 
little  figure,  doleful,  unattractive,  yet  smitten  by 
calamity,  and  the  memories  she  had  set  aside  came 
340 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

back  heavy  with  rebuke.  She  had  started  on  a 
mission  of  rescue,  she  had  set  herself  to  restrain 
Beatrice,  to  lead  her  in  higher  ways,  and  to  make 
such  suffering  as  this  she  looked  on  impossible, 
and  in  the  first  blush  of  happiness  the  whole  effort 
had  been  thrust  aside.  Those  splendid  intentions 
fire.d  by  the  fate  of  Holt,  the  injunctions  of  Mrs. 
Lambert,  what  had  become  of  them?  They  had 
fainted  at  repulse,  and,  in  the  atmosphere  of  her 
own  romance,  vanished,  and  now  before  her  was 
another  victim  to  point  her  neglect. 

Mrs.  Sloane's  sobs  dwindled  to  shaking  gasps. 

"  George  is  susceptible,  you  know,  Edith,"  she 
murmured,  wearily,  "  and  she  saw  this  and  wished 
to  make  sport  of  his  sentiment.  I  don't  believe 
she  intended  to  go  so  far.  Maybe  it  was  only 
amusement,  but  it  has  lost  him  to  me.  What 
shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?  " 

Edith  drew  her  into  her  room  and  closed  the 
door. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  the  city  for  a  time," 
she  said ;  "  it  is  the  best  thing  for  both  of 
you.  When  he  finds  you  are  gone  it  will  revive 
his  affection."  Edith  spoke  tenderly  and  wisely, 
because  she  pitied  the  woman,  and  she  hoped  in 
some  fashion  to  restore  the  links,  fractured,  as 
she  knew,  in  wantonness,  but  not  yet  severed. 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  want  to  go,  I  ought  to  go,"  wailed  Mrs. 
Sloane,  "  but  it  is  very  hard,  and  I  hate  to  leave 
him  with  her.  They  might  —  might  —  kiss  each 
other." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  them  making  love?  " 

"No."  ' 

Edith  smiled  bitterly.  "  Then  you  have  nothing 
to  fear.  Beatrice  never  kissed  a  man  in  her  life. 
Beatrice  has  been  coquetting  with  your  husband 
instead  of  playing  billiards.  This  outburst  means 
that  he  will  now  be  scorned." 

Mrs.  Sloane's  face  lit  up  with  kindling  hope. 

"  But  won't  they  be  glad  to  be  alone?  Is  not 
my  going  just  what  they  desire?" 

"  For  the  moment  it  may  be  what  he  desires, 
but  Beatrice  —  why,  Mrs.  Sloane,  there  are  sev- 
eral other  men  in  the  house  whom  I  had  set 
down  as  victims.  I  never  even  thought  of  your 
husband.  Are  you  sure  of  the  facts  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sloane  nodded  sadly.  "  He  told  me  that 
Beatrice  was  the  kind  of  a  woman  any  man  might 
admire ;  that  she  had  blood  and  fire,  and  that  she 
made  the  ordinary  female  look  wooden.  He  was 
very  brutal  "  — the  memory  brought  on  the  tears 
again.  Edith  comforted  her  as  she  might  a 
grief-stricken  child. 

"  Go  away,"  she  urged,  soothingly.  "  Go  to 
342 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  city  and  leave  the  situation  to  me.  Your  hus- 
band has  been  foolish;  I  do  not  believe  he  has 
been  criminal.  I  will  do  what  I  can,  and  make 
you  a  faithful  report."  With  this  consolation 
Edith  gradually  beat  down  the  hysteria,  and  in 
the  end  Mrs.  Sloane  went  away  convinced  that 
somehow  Edith  would  restore  to  her  the  recreant 
husband.  For  this  she  thanked  her  in  advance. 

When  she  had  seen  the  wretched  wife  depart, 
Edith  crept  back  to.  her  room  unstrung  and 
dispirited.  Her  mind  travelled  in  one  circle  of 
reproach.  She  could  not  free  herself  of  the  belief 
that  had  she  done  her  duty  she  might  have  stayed 
the  evil  which  Beatrice  worked.  The  fugitive 
humour  in  Mrs.  Sloane's  woe  did  not  touch  her. 
She  pitied  the  woman,  and  she  knew  that  no 
matter  whether  she  brought  the  man  back  or  not, 
his  infidelity  would  discolour  their  lives.  She 
tried  to  retrace  her  steps,  to  see  where  she  had 
failed  and  why,  but  this  proved  wearing  and 
fruitless,  because  she  knew  that  she  had  practically 
abandoned  her  mission.  She  had  been  unfaithful 
to  society. 

"  I  have  not  influenced  Beatrice,"  she  thought, 
gloomily,  "  because  I  have  never  shown  her  that  I 
loved  her.  My  interference  has  been  officious. 
Somehow  I  might  have  touched  her  heart." 

343 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Her  mind  ran  solely  on  the  danger  to  others. 
From  her  own  peril  she  turned  aside.  It  was 
no  time  to  be  selfish,  and  this  very  reflection 
brought  her  thoughts  into  a  new  channel.  If  she 
had  been  so  honestly  eager  to  benefit  society,  why 
had  she  not  made  some  personal  sacrifice  ?  What 
had  she  ever  done  beyond  nagging  and  imploring 
Beatrice?  Even  if  right  in  the  abstract,  it  was 
no  way  to  impress  her,  and  now,  when  she  had  an 
opening,  she  was  fighting  selfishly  against  either 
loss  or  setback.  If  Beatrice  really  loved  Chan- 
ning,  then  her  capture  of  him  meant  a  focusing  of 
sentiment.  Her  own  love  blocked  the  way. 

She  sent  for  Mrs.  Jewett. 

"  Alice,"  she  began,  solemnly,  "  Mrs.  Sloane 
has  joined  the  unfortunates.  I  blame  myself 
because  if  I  am  not  to  interfere  no  one  will.  I 
have  tried  moral  suasion  and  failed.  I  propose 
now  that  if  Beatrice  really  cares  for  Maurice  she 
be  allowed  to  have  him  without  further  contest." 

"Nonsense!     Why?" 

"If  she  loves  him  as  she  pretends,  she  will 
marry  him.  If  that  occurs  it  will  put  a  stop  to 
these  dreadful  sorrows." 

Mrs.  Jewett's  lips  settled  in  a  thin,  unhandsome 
line. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said, 

344 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

with  a  metallic  note ;  "  you  do  not  know  that  she 
loves  him,  and  you  cannot  be  sure  of  either  sug- 
gestion you  make.  It  is  your  happiness  against 
the  field.  What  do  you  suppose  I  care  about 
any  one  else  ?  " 

"  O  Alice !  you  must  —  these  things  are  heart- 
breaking. It  is  my  place  to  meet  the  problem." 

^  By  making  yourself  wretched?  You  would 
kill  your  own  heart,  and  maybe  lose  after  all. 
I  say  no." 

"What  else  is  to  be  done?  She  will  listen 
neither  to  me  nor  to  the  call  of  morals." 

"  Let  her  alone,  then,  and  perhaps  one  of  these 
sufferers  will  rise  up  some  day  and  destroy  her." 

"  That  is  not  charity.  Besides,  letting  her 
alone  has  failed  already." 

"  It  is  the  only  thing  that  will  ever  relieve 
society.  By  the  way,  I  have  been  forced  to  use 
ugly  weapons  to-day." 

"What  now?" 

"  I  hinted  to  Channing  that  she  drove  Holt 
insane." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,  Alice.  It  seems  hardly 
fair." 

"  You  need  not  worry.  He  was  not  greatly 
upset." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?    Did  he  make  any  reply  ?  " 

345 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

"  Indeed,  yes.  He  said  he  thought  Beatrice  in 
certain  aspects  might  drive  a  good  many  men 
insane.  I  did  not  ask  what  aspects." 

Edith's  brow  clouded.  She  sighed  patheti- 
cally. "  It  would  seem  that  I  propose  sacrificing 
that  which  is  not  mine,"  she  said. 

"  Not  so.  I  tell  you  he  belongs  to  you.  Such 
a  speech  indicates  that  he  realises  her  wonderful 
magnetism  —  nothing  more.  If  I  can  keep  him 
away  long  enough,  his  interest  will  lapse.  What 
happened  to  Mrs.  Sloane  ?  " 

"  Beatrice  has  —  oh !  let  us  talk  of  a  saving 
move,  Alice.  You  will  think  her  case  ludicrous  — 
it  has  reduced  me  to  the  depths." 

"  I  will  talk  of  no  move  that  involves  your 
surrender." 

"  You  are  harsh,  Alice." 

"  Sensible,  you  should  say.  I  have  more  cor- 
rectly gauged  your  sister's  character  than  any  one 
else  in  the  world.  You  understand  her  but  feebly, 
because  you  have  no  guide  rules  of  comparative 
wickedness.  If  the  good  God  gives  me  victory 
over  Beatrice  Cameron,  I  shall  consider  myself 
quit  of  the  past.  Do  not  believe  for  an  instant 
that  any  sacrifice  you  could  make  would  divert 
her.  It  would  be  just  the  same  if  she  were 
married." 

346 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  was  not  convinced.  Mrs.  Jewett's  venge- 
ful spirit  destroyed  her  truisms,  and  when  she 
had  gone  Edith  fell  back  on  the  belief  that  within 
her  power  lay  the  only  sure  check  to  her  sister's 
mischief.  Every  other  method  had  failed,  but 
this  new  plan  had  the  virtue  of  being  practical. 
Its  success  might  induce  Beatrice  to  hang  up  for 
ever  the  scarlet  vestments  of  the  coquette.  To 
win  such  a  result  seemed  to  Edith  warrant  for 
any  loss  she  might  be  called  on  to  bear.  The 
death  of  her  precious  enchantment  meant  agony, 
but  not  greater  agony  than  further  neglect.  She 
prayed  for  the  needed  strength. 

The  reclamation  of  Sloane  proved  a  harder 
task  than  she  had  thought.  He  was  not  very  well 
known  to  her,  and  the  aspect  of  the  man  was  dis- 
couraging. Everything  about  him  bespoke  a 
meanness  of  soul. 

First  she  tried  pathos,  and  she  used  all  the 
arts  of  a  special  pleader ;  then  she  tried  warning, 
and  hinted  that  a  public  divorce  suit  was  a  certain 
sequel,  but  when  to  all  her  endeavours  he  opposed 
a  wondering  smile,  she  lost  her  temper. 

"  You  think  it  a  matter  of  humour,"  she  cried, 
"  and  I  think  it  is  much  more  humourous  that  you 
should  imagine  that  Beatrice  cares  whether  you 
go  or  stay.  Beatrice  thinks  more  of  any  one  of 

347 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

three  other  men  that  are  now  in  the  house.  I 
can't  imagine  why  your  wife  wants  you,  but 
if  you  will  not  go  to  her  you  cannot  stay  here. 
I  order  you  to  go,  and  if  that  is  not  enough,  I 
will  make  it  an  issue  and  leave  myself.  Beatrice 
also  will  tell  you  to  go.  You  are  a  little  criminal 
and  a  big  fool."  Turning  about,  Edith  marched 
from  the  room,  but  not  until  her  eye  had  caught 
a  total  collapse  of  the  man's  effrontery. 

He  was  gone  in  twenty-four  hours.  He  had 
raced  to  Beatrice  for  protection,  and  his  last  state 
was  worse  than  the  first.  Beatrice  not  only  denied 
him,  but  she  made  him  also  feel  the  weight  of 
anger  aroused  by  his  wife.  He  fled  to  the  train, 
appreciating  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  woman 
he  had  wronged. 

It  was  while  the  dregs  of  the  miserable  Sloane 
incident  still  poisoned  Edith's  peace,  while  the 
problem  of  conscience  still  weighted  her  thoughts, 
that  the  doubts  and  delays  had  their  execution 
through  a  disaster  blacker  and  more  ghastly  than 
any  that  had  gone  before.  It  was  like  a  divine 
command  imposed  to  check  the  shrinking  from 
the  sacrifice. 

From  the  day  when  the  sentimental  currents 
began  their  swirl  about  Channing  the  other  figures 
at  Bellamore  had  fallen  into  the  background. 

348 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Gotham,  ready-witted  and  full  of  pride,  stepped 
aside  to  nurse  his  defeat  in  silence,  but  Royer 
cloaked  under  submission  an  active  hunger  for 
revenge.  He  watched  the  play  calmly  while  his 
soul  was  racked.  Every  hour  the  black  brows 
knit  closer  together,  and  with  each  fresh  proof 
of  •  his  loss  the  iron  in  his  heart  bit  deeper  its 
inflaming  point.  He  regarded  Beatrice  as  his 
chattel  of  romance.  He  had  made  love  to  her,  and 
she  had  responded,  and  now  the  dear  and  pas- 
sionate record  was  as  if  it  had  never  been.  Over 
night  he  had  been  dropped  from  her  notice,  and 
he  neither  understood  the  change  nor  accepted 
it.  For  some  time  he  studied  the  Channing  affair 
to  confirm  his  fall.  When  no  longer  uncertain, 
he  threw  his  whole  soul  into  an  effort  at  recovery. 
The  things  he  said  to  Beatrice  were  not  in 
themselves  alarming.  His  nature  was  coarse  and 
powerful,  but  his  self-control  operated  to  hide 
his  anger.  Still,  had  she  been  a  woman  of  finer 
instinct,  the  very  tone  of  his  protest  would  have 
warned  her.  It  held  a  minor  chord  of  menace. 
He  was  quiet,  and  she  thought  this  quiet,  resigna- 
tion; he  was  deferential,  and  she  took  this  to 
mean  weakness,  so  she  did  not  even  try  to  explain, 
which  with  nine  men  out  of  ten  would  have 


349 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

soothed  the  sting.  Instead  she  was  frankly 
unkind. 

"  We  are  friends,  Mr.  Royer,"  she  said,  with 
studied  apathy,  "  we  are  friends.  I  never  said 
we  were  anything  else." 

"  You  never  did,"  he  acknowledged,  "  but, 
Beatrice,  all  falsehood  is  not  with  the  tongue." 

"  Indeed  not,"  she  answered,  coolly,  "  nor  is  all 
self-conceit  founded  on  reason.  You  misread 
your  invitation." 

After  this  he  should  have  followed  in  the  foot- 
steps of  Mrs.  Sloane.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  be  done,  and,  in  justice  to  his  dignity,  he  made 
several  half-hearted  efforts  to  go.  But  with 
every  thought  of  retreat  there  came  a  desire  to 
leave  behind  him  something  of  the  sorrow  he 
must  take  away.  He  was  a  Southerner,  he 
remembered  it,  and  the  idea  of  suffering  affront 
was  against  both  education  and  instinct.  Had 
such  a  weight  of  indignity  come  from  a  man  he 
would  have  killed  him.  So  over  and  over  again 
he  sought  to  find  a  way  by  which,  if  Beatrice 
might  not  die  in  the  flesh,  she  should  feel  lasting 
pains  of  regret.  His  love  for  her  had  not  a 
single  spiritual  element.  It  was  passion  unleav- 
ened by  sweetness  or  grace,  and  when  he  figured 
on  revenge  there  was  no  call  of  devotion  to  stay 

350 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

his  hand.  Had  he  fled  from  his  torment  he  might 
have  survived,  but  with  defeat  brought  home  in 
endless  reminder  there  was  no  chance  for  peace 
or  for  resignation. 

One  bright  and  shining  morning  Royer  rose  up 
to  cast  aside  his  burden.  He  knew  that  with  it 
must  go  life  itself,  for  only  thus  was  ease  to  be 
had,  but  he  did  not  shrink,  and  the  resolve  bred 
in  his  soul  the  joy  that  comes  with  final  decision. 
Beatrice  had  gone  down  the  path  with  Channing, 
and  he  had  watched  them  as  a  stimulus  to  his 
plan.  Each  trifle  of  companionable  contact  ab- 
sorbed him,  and  like  trip-hammers  pounded  on 
the  wreckage  of  his  heart.  He  had  needed  just 
such  a  scene  to  clinch  hard  and  fast  his  tragic 
intent. 

Beatrice  was  returning  along  the  path  now,  and 
instead  of  Channing,  Edith  walked  by  her  side. 

"  What  luck,"  thought  Royer,  "  she  shall  see 
it  all.  Edith  will  remember  when  the  other  for- 
gets." 

He  left  the  great  veranda  and  walked  down 
the  flower-bordered  walk  to  meet  them.  His  face 
was  smiling  and  his  eyes  pleasing  in  their  antici- 
pation. 

"  You  look  like  divinities  of  the  morning,"  he 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

cried,  gaily,  "  and  I  think  those  gowns  are  quite 
the  most  charming  feature  of  the  landscape." 

"  They  don't  match  the  temperature,  though," 
said  Beatrice,  drily.  "  I  think  white  would  be 
more  appropriate  to  such  a  piping  hot  day." 

"  Men  never  think  of  details,"  said  Edith, 
sweetly ;  "  it's  the  picture,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Royer  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  Miss  Edith ;  we  would  applaud  a 
dance  gown  in  a  snow-storm." 

They  had  wandered  up  to  the  mansion.  Royer 
paused. 

"  The  shore  shines  like  the  emerald  frame  of 
a  sapphire,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  winding  green 
line.  "  It  is  an  invitation.  Won't  you  go  up 
to  the  little  cliff  near  the  inlet?  Not  to  walk  is 
to  deny  our  rhapsodies." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  a  pleasant  move,"  said 
Edith,  heartily.  "  You  must  go,  Beatrice.  You 
walk  too  little  for  your  health." 

Beatrice  nodded.  "  If  you  will  get  parasols," 
she  said,  "  we  will  go." 

When  Edith  had  gone,  Beatrice  turned  on 
Royer  abruptly. 

"  I  trust  this  is  not  a  revival  of  the  chase,'* 
she  said,  maliciously,  "  you  have  been  so  retired 
of  late." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  promptly,  "  it  is  merely 

352 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

a  walk."  There  was  not  a  trace  of  bitterness 
in  his  tone,  and  he  smiled  kindly. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  observed  Beatrice. 
"  Otherwise,"  she  added,  with  an  irritating  laugh, 
"  it  might  be  less  a  walk  than  a  run."  He  declined 
to  reply. 

Along  the  shore  their  ramble  was  an  exhilarat- 
ing progress.  On  one  side  the  Sound  rippled  and 
whispered  to  the  impulse  of  a  soft  wind  out  of 
the  south,  lapping  the  shingle  in  quick,  melodious 
invasions  and  hissing  away  again;  on  the  other 
the  green  and  red  land  of  summer  spread  a  feast 
of  perfume  and  colour.  Once  they  moved  away 
inland  to  view  a  wonderful  show  of  flowers,  but 
they  hurried  back  to  the  Sound,  unwilling  to 
lose  the  chilled  wind  of  its  bosom.  For  nearly  a 
mile  they  went  ahead  without  stopping  to  rest. 
When  they  did  so  it  was  at  Royer's  suggestion. 

"  The  old  quicksand  is  just  behind  that  mound," 
he  said,  pointing  to  a  tiny  elevation  a  few  rods 
back  from  the  water ;  "we  can  go  up  there 
and  rest  and  see  the  sand  at  the  same  time." 

"  Quicksand  ?  I  thought  quicksands  only 
existed  in  special  localities,"  said  Beatrice,  curi- 
ously. 

"  That  is  so,"  answered  Royer,  "  but  the  sub- 
stratum of  the  shore  here  is  clay.  This  quicksand 

353 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

was  an  immense  hollow,  I  believe.  It  became 
filled  with  sand  and  water,  and  is  so  saturated  that 
it  cannot  bear  any  weight." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  quicksand,"  said  Edith, 
eagerly,  "  but  I  have  never  seen  it.  Let  us  go 
up  at  once." 

"  I  abhor  quicksands,"  remarked  Beatrice,  fear- 
fully ;  "  if  this  were  my  estate  I  would  see  to  it 
that  it  was  filled  and  planked  over." 

They  reached  the  mound,  and  all  three  peered 
curiously  over  the  edge  at  the  ominous  patch  of 
unstable  soil.  It  lay  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
mound. 

"  Not  too  near,  Miss  Edith,"  cried  Royer,  anx- 
iously, "  the  edge  might  crumble,  and  nothing 
under  heaven  could  save  you,  falling  from 
this  height.  I  wonder  myself  that  the  authorities 
do  not  fill  it  up." 

"  It  looks  like  the  sand  of  the  Moonstone,"  said 
Edith,  in  a  hushed  whisper ;  "  see,  you  can  notice 
the  tremblings  in  its  bosom.  It  is  scrawled  with 
little  malignant  quivers.  I  wonder,  has  it  a  his- 
tory?" 

"  No,"  answered  Royer,  calmly,  "  no  one  has 
ever  fallen  in.  That  is  why  it  has  been  allowed 
to  remain.  Besides,  you  know,  this  part  of  the 


354 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

shore  is  little  frequented.  I  venture  to  say  we  are 
quite  a  mile  from  the  nearest  house." 

"  Then  it  is  certain  death  to  be  caught  in  its 
meshes?"  observed  Edith. 

"  Quite  so.  If  one  of  us  fell  from  this  mound, 
for  instance,  it  would  hardly  require  five  minutes 
for  the  unfortunate  to  smother.  You  can  imagine 
the  chances  for  bringing  help."  He  glanced  over 
at  Beatrice  as  he  spoke,  and  her  cheek  paled. 

"  Come  away,"  she  burst  out,  fretfully;  "  can 
we  find  nothing  more  cheerful  to  linger  over  than 
this  death-trap?  I  thought  we  were  hunting  the 
sunlight." 

For  an  instant  after  her  exclamation  quiet  fell 
on  the  group.  Edith  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the 
quivering  death  below,  Beatrice  moved  down 
toward  the  shore,  and  Royer  ran  his  eyes  around 
the  horizon  in  an  earnest,  searching  fashion,  as 
though  he  wished  to  absorb  every  detail  of  the 
brilliant  panorama. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  day,"  he  murmured,  absently, 
to  Edith.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  the  world 
look  so  fair." 

Wandering  slowly  down  the  mound,  Beatrice 
turned  once  and  saw  them  standing  side  by  side. 
He  had  joined  Edith  in  fascinated  contemplation 


355 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

of  the  sands,  and  the  sight  seemed  to  hush  them 
into  silence. 

A  few  feet  further  on  she  turned  again,  and  a 
quick  spasm  of  horror  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot  when  she  saw  Edith's  form  silhouetted 
sharply  against  the  sky  above.  Royer  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

In  the  same  instant  she  saw  Edith  collapse  on 
the  grass  as  though  smitten  by  a  blow,  and  a  pierc- 
ing, dreadful  shriek  —  a  shriek  such  as  she  had 
once  heard  echoing  through  the  halls  of  the  Lam- 
bert home  —  rang  in  her  ears.  Its  message  of 
fright  and  agony  twanged  her  nerves  like  harp 
strings,  but  she  recovered  and  leaped  up  the  hill 
with  a  sure  realisation  of  the  scene  that  lay  beyond. 
What  she  saw  was  a  triumph  of  death.  Royer 
was  sinking  slowly  into  the  heart  of  the  sand. 

He  was  immersed  beyond  the  waist  when  she 
looked  down ;  his  face  was  pale,  but  without  dis- 
tress, his  hands  burrowed  into  the  sands  as  though 
to  hasten  his  descent,  and  she  thought  she  saw 
the  flitting  of  a  smile,  ironic,  ghastly,  and  full 
of  meaning. 

Edith  was  pounding  the  grass  at  her  feet  and 
crying  hysterically. 

"  It  is  suicide,"  she  gasped.  "  I  tell  you  it  is 
suicide!  He  leaped  off  the  mound.  He  did  not 
356 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

fall.  Look!  He  is  trying  to  dig  his  own  grave. 
Oh!  what  shall  we  do?  He  did  it  for  your 
sake.  I  know  he  did !  " 

Beatrice  turned  on  her  fiercely. 

"  Be  quiet,"  she  cried,  "  and  here,  stand  up  — 
loosen  my  skirt  —  break  the  hooks  —  there  is  not 
a  moment  to  be  lost." 

The  sharp,  commanding  orders  steadied  Edith 
at  once.  She  stumbled  to  her  feet  and  tore  at  the 
fastenings.  The  skirt  loosened  and  fell  to  the 
ground.  Beatrice  stepped  from  its  folds,  and, 
grasping  the  light,  fluffy  material,  in  one  desperate 
wrench,  tore  it  down  its  length.  She  then  flung 
herself  face  down  on  the  mound  and  tossed  an 
end  of  the  strip  fairly  at  Royer's  breast. 

"  Go  for  help,  Edith,"  she  cried ;  "  race  for  your 
life,  and  I  will  hold  him  up  until  you  return.  We 
must  have  men  and  ropes.  Grasp  it,  Royer,"  she 
called  to  the  prisoner,  "  grasp  it  and  rest  your  full 
weight  on  the  strip.  You  must  not  sink  any 
further;  it  is  death." 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  saw  that  the  clutching, 
smothering  sand  had  made  its  way  almost  to  his 
armpits.  When  the  improvised  life-line  struck 
in  front  of  him  Royer  made  no  effort  to  avail 
himself  of  its  aid.  Instead  he  seemed  to  bend 
forward,  and  the  convulsive  working  of  his 

357 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

shoulders  left  no  doubt  that  he  sought  death,  and 
not  the  life  that  was  held  out  to  his  hand.  The 
movement  killed  every  nerve  in  Beatrice's  body. 

"  Take  it,"  she  screamed,  frantically,  "  take  it, 
and  I  will  hold  you  until  —  O,  Royer !  what  are 
you  doing?  The  sand  is  over  your  shoulders!  " 
She  rose  to  her  knees  and  reached  down  both 
hands  pleadingly,  begging  his  life  that  her  own 
might  escape  the  blight.  Edith  hovered  at  her 
elbow,  watching  for  the  move  that  should  speed 
her  away  for  succour,  yet  feeling,  almost  knowing, 
that  he  would  not  touch  the  rope. 

He  looked  up  drearily  at  her  cry,  and  the  brows 
drew  together  in  a  scowl. 

"  You  know  why  I  am  here,"  he  said.  "  I  did 
not  fall  in.  I  jumped  in.  I  think  you  will 
remember  me." 

The  welling  sand  buried  his  shoulders,  and  a 
tiny  saffron  patch  licked  at  his  chin.  He  threw 
his  head  back  slightly,  and  the  sun  beat  down  on 
his  face,  illuminating  every  scrawl  and  wrinkle  of 
its  involuntary  agony. 

"  It  is  my  revenge,"  he  went  on,  evenly;  "  so 
long  as  you  live  you  will  not  forget  this  grave  and 
the  man  who  fills  it.  I  intended  that  you  should 
see  me,  and  I  intended  that  Edith  should  serve  as 
a  perpetual  witness  and  reminder.  I  could  not 

358 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

—  go  away.  I  placed  life  and  soul  in  the  balance 
of  your  love,  and  I  lost." 

The  lapping,  reaching  fluid  splashed  into  his 
mouth.  He  threw  his  head  back  still  further  and 
coughed. 

"  If  you  had  played  fair,"  he  said,  jerkily,  "  if 
you  had  been  honest,  I  would  never  have  persisted. 
I  want  Edith  to  know  that.  You  have  been  cruel 
and  base,  and  yet  I  feel  that  I  am  squaring  ac- 
counts after  all.  I  am  stilling  my  own  agony,  and 
I  am  giving  you  a  burden  to  bear  all  the  days  of 
your  life.  Best  of  all,  Edith  will  not  let  you 
forget.  You  — "  The  words  trailed  off  in  a 
choking  gasp.  They  saw  a  horrible  splutter  at 
the  man's  mouth,  they  saw  him  throw  his  head 
back  again  in  a  desperate  effort  to  finish  his  speech, 
then  the  neck  seemed  to  give  way,  and  the  face, 
purple  and  convulsed,  dropped  forward  into  the 
sand.  The  crown  of  shining  black  hair,  the  white 
skin  at  the  base  of  the  neck,  these  alone  were 
visible.  The  two  women  crouched  over  the  pit 
watching  in  a  trance  of  agony  the  last  work  of 
the  creeping  death.  The  neck  disappeared,  and 
then  strand  by  strand,  it  seemed,  the  black  mop 
on  the  quaking  surface  faded  from  view.  One 
little  patch  remained,  hung  there,  spread  out  in  a 
flaccid,  irregular  circle,  and  was  gone.  The  whole 

359 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

pit  seemed  to  move  in  a  strange  and  violent 
tremble  —  the  next  second  the  sun  beat  down  on 
a  surface  unruffled,  smooth,  and  full  of  a  shining 
evil. 

And  still  they  waited  and  watched,  lingering 
above  the  grave  as  though  expecting  its  rejection 
of  the  victim  who  sought  its  mercy.  Edith 
moaned  once  or  twice,  but  Beatrice  gazed  down 
impassive  and  silent.  She  did  not  move  when 
Edith,  creeping  to  her  side,  touched  her  arm.  She 
did  not  even  look  in  her  direction. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  after  him?  "  whispered 
Edith.  Her  voice  was  strained  and  harsh. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  after  him?  "  she  repeated. 
"  Are  you  to  stay  always  in  the  world  to  drive 
others  out  ?  Will  you  play  vampire  until  one  day 
you  die  first  and  some  poor  victim  afterward? 
Royer  now,  and  before  him  Holt  and  Trexler,  and 
Sloane  and  Gotham.  If  this  be  your  best  in  life, 
you  were  better  dead." 

She  reached  forward  and  shook  Beatrice  by  the 
shoulder.  Her  eyes  were  agate  hard  and  merci- 
less. 

"  I  am  going  to  Bellamore,"  she  said.  "  If  you 
do  not  come  after,  I  shall  know  that  you  have 
asked  the  mercy  of  God." 

She  did  not  wait  for  a  reply.  She  did  not 
360 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

expect  any.  Instead  she  rose  up,  adjusted  her 
skirts  with  a  curious,  unconscious  care,  and  mov- 
ing down  the  mound,  walked  straight  off  across 
the  fields.  Her  step  was  heavy,  and  once  or  twice 
she  staggered  blindly.  She  did  not  look  behind. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

rHE  "  accident "  to  Royer  caused  a  great 
and  unhappy  sensation.  The  body  was 
recovered,  and  the  authorities,  urged  by 
public  comment,  closed  the  deadly  pit  for  ever. 
At  Bellamore  the  event  wrought  a  profound 
change.  Edith  retired  to  her  rooms  and  was  seen 
only  at  intervals.  When  she  did  appear  the 
plain  marks  of  her  distress  constituted  a  damper 
that  the  guests  were  prone  to  dodge.  Mrs.  Jewett 
isolated  herself  to  attend  on  Edith,  and  as  Bea- 
trice dignified  the  tragedy  with  unbending  gloom, 
the  visitors  were  thrown  on  their  own  devices. 
This,  together  with  the  need  for  restraint,  broke 
up  the  company  rapidly.  They  began  dropping 
out  one  by  one  until  none  remained  but  Morgan, 
Channing,  and  Willie  Gotham,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  the  last  named  decided  to  escape  the 
scene  of  his  troubles. 

No  one  at  Bellamore  lifted  a  hand  to  stay  the 
migration.     Beatrice  seemed  to  recognise  that  a 
period  of  repression  was  in  order.    She  saw,  too, 
362 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

that  Edith's  attitude  was  likely  to  prove  embar- 
rassing. So  far  as  she  could,  her  sister  avoided 
her  entirely.  If  they  met  in  the  halls,  Edith 
viewed  her  with  a  face  of  loathing  and  of  scorn. 
If  they  entered  a  room  together,  Edith  made  no 
delay  of  leaving.  Before  guests  this  would  have 
been  intolerable,  and  Beatrice  was  glad  there  were 
none  to  see.  Just  at  present  she  was  too  much 
shaken  by  Royer's  death  to  fend  the  buffets,  but 
she  promised  herself  a  long  memory  when  the 
shock  had  worn  away.  She  could  hardly  account 
for  her  failure  of  nerve.  Her  personal  grief  was 
nothing,  and  for  horror  Royer's  end  might  well 
be  matched  by  the  memory  of  Holt's.  But  she 
was  depressed  and  afraid,  and  she  could  credit  it 
only  to  a  presentiment  of  other  evils  still  to  follow. 
Meantime  she  turned  to  Channing  for  relief. 

The  flight  of  the  guests  and  the  strained  rela- 
tions that  divided  its  occupants  bred  in  the  big 
mansion  a  procession  of  joyless  days.  There  was 
an  air  of  restraint,  of  uncertainty,  and,  in  some 
degree,  foreboding.  Only  a  company  welded 
together  by  vital  interests  could  have  faced  its 
gloom.  Channing  fell  more  and  more  beneath 
the  enchantment  of  Beatrice,  and  stayed  because 
he  wished  to  be  nowhere  else ;  Morgan,  forgetting 
his  promise,  stayed  to  watch  Channing,  and  Mrs. 

363 


A    SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

Jewett  lingered  on  account  of  Edith.  During 
this  time  Channing  made  several  efforts  to  carry 
Edith  off  on  one  of  their  old  jaunts,  but  her  indif- 
ference was  so  pronounced  that  he  gave  it  up. 
It  was  a  spasm  of  conscience.  He  had  drifted 
away  from  Edith,  and  his  advances  were  to  stifle 
reproach.  Also  he  pitied  her ;  the  "  accident  " 
seemed  to  have  broken  her  down.  When  she 
refused  him  he  attended  on  Beatrice  with  easier 
mind. 

Edith  had  noted  his  flicker  of  kindness  and  had 
discouraged  it  with  a  motive.  Her  last  doubt 
was  gone.  She  would  give  up  Channing,  and 
she  wished  no  reviving  interest  to  check  the  sacri- 
fice. The  memory  of  the  sands  wiped  out  reluc- 
tance and  made  her  strong. 

Mrs.  Jewett  heard  the  whole  story  of  Royer's 
doom  from  Edith.  It  awoke  in  her  a  fearful 
anger.  She  wished  to  confront  Beatrice,  she 
wanted  to  cry  her  infamy  in  the  highways  and  in 
the  byways.  But  Edith  interposed. 

"  Of  what  benefit  is  it  that  we  furnish  society 
the  truth  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Beatrice  is  shocked  now 
and  subdued,  but  in  a  few  days  the  tragedy  will 
constitute  an  '  affair.'  She  is  a  moral  pervert. 
There  are  but  two  ways  in  which  she  may  be 
made  harmless.  One  is  to  engage  her  heart ;  the 

364 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

other  is  "  —  she  paused  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Jewett 
strangely  —  "  the  other  is  death." 

Mrs.  Jewett  did  not  start. 

"  I  can  appreciate  your  feelings,"  she  said ; 
"  you  have  my  sympathy." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  whether  the  first  is  possible." 

'"How?" 

"  I  suggested  it  before,  but  I  was  hardly  in 
earnest.  Now  I  am  ready  to  abandon  my  only 
happiness  to  throw  a  life-line  to  sister." 

"Channing?" 

"  Yes,  she  shall  have  him.  You  must  stand 
aside.  It  will  be  a  final  effort.  He  is  the  best 
of  men.  If  she  cannot  love  him,  then  love  is  not 
in  her  nature.  If  she  does  love  him,  I  expect  him 
to  reform  her  life." 

"  She  will  treat  him  as  the  others.  What  reason 
have  you  to  expect  anything  else?" 

"If  she  does,  if  she  destroys  that  splendid  life, 
her  own  shall  pay  the  forfeit." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dearest  ?    Surely  you  —  " 

"  Yes,  with  my  own  hands." 

Mrs.  Jewett  sat  for  a  long  time  studying  the 
face  of  the  girl  she  loved  so  well,  and  as  she 
looked  a  chill  dread  enveloped  her.  She  searched 
for  anger,  and  there  was  no  anger;  she  thought 
of  nerve  disorder,  and  could  see  nothing  but  placid 

365 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

exactness.  The  very  absence  of  feelings  matching 
her  threat  was  a  sinister  fact.  It  made  Mrs. 
Jewett  very  uneasy.  She  ran  over  in  her  mind  all 
that  had  happened,  to  see  whether  the  record  could 
warrant  such  deadly  reform  as  Edith  suggested. 
Also  she  began  to  recount  the  weight  her  own 
course  had  had  in  bringing  Edith  to  her  present 
state  of  mind.  The  review  was  disturbing. 
She  remembered  that  she  had  never  lost  a  chance 
to  call  down  anathema  on  Beatrice,  and  it  was 
painful  to  think  that  every  attack  had  helped 
widen  the  girl's  distrust.  The  sequel  promised 
black  regrets. 

"  I  would  not  talk  like  that,  Edith,"  she  ven- 
tured, weakly ;  "  you  cannot  possibly  mean  it,  and 
it  only  adds  to  your  bitterness." 

"  I  have  ceased  to  think  of  myself,"  answered 
Edith.  "  I  believe  myself  to  be  an  agent." 

"  Why  are  you  called  upon  to  sacrifice  yourself 
for  an  intangible  society  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  intangible.  We  have  the  gravestones 
to  remind  us." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  adding  two 
more  —  hers  first  and  your  own  afterward.  I 
have  talked  foolishly  about  Beatrice  myself,  but 
while  I  think  her  death  might  profit  the  world, 
I  prefer  the  stroke  to  come  from  God." 
366 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Edith  did  not  answer.  She  moved  restlessly 
about  the  room,  her  distress  reflected  in  absent 
eyes.  The  quiet  alarmed  Mrs.  Jewett  more  than 
violence.  It  argued  a  settled  conviction,  a  finality 
of  reasoning  that  made  her  threat  real  and  shut 
her  in  from  argument. 

""  Do  you  think  there  is  a  chance  for  a  bar- 
gain ?  "  asked  Edith,  suddenly. 

"Where?" 

"  Is  it  possible  for  me  to  offer  her  Channing?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Jewett,  in 
confusion,  "  they  have  been  very  much  together 
since  you  shut  yourself  in  these  rooms.  Still, 
you  can  threaten  to  expose  the  Royer  matter.  It 
ought  to  be  an  inducement." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  necessary.  She  must  know 
that  he  loves  me  some.  But  after  all  there  is  no 
need  for  a  bargain.  I  shall  make  it  an  issue  with 
life  on  one  hand  and  death  on  the  other.  I  want 
her  to  marry  him." 

It  was  two  nights  after  this  talk  that  Mrs. 
Jewett,  answering  a  knock  at  the  door,  found 
Edith  standing  on  the  threshold.  Her  appear- 
ance was  surprising.  From  head  to  foot  she 
was  gowned  and  groomed  as  she  had  not  seen 
her  since  the  night  of  the  great  ball.  Mrs.  Jewett 


367 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

found  no  puzzle  in  the  display,  but  she  waited  for 
her  to  speak. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Beatrice,"  announced  Edith, 
grimly. 

"About  Channing?" 

"  Channing  and  the  future." 

"Well?" 

"  You  are  to  go  with  me.  If  I  am  forced  to 
act  I  want  a  witness  for  conscience's  sake." 

"  You  are  exposing  yourself  to  ridicule  —  to 
insult." 

"  I  am  past  that,  Alice.    I  want  you  to  go." 

Mrs.  Jewett  beat  about  for  warning  and  appeal, 
but  she  did  not  know  what  to  say.  That  dead 
level  of  calm  which  had  baffled  her  before  dis- 
mayed her  now.  She  felt  that  Edith  had  acquired 
a  strength  that  scoffed  at  influence.  It  might 
be  desperation,  it  might  even  be  insanity,  but 
whatever  it  was  she  was  sure  the  girl  had  passed 
beyond  her  control.  Her  spiritual  nature  was 
dominant,  and  this  was  a  force  not  subject  to 
manipulation. 

She  observed  the  white  face,  the  newly  etched 
lines  down  the  mouth,  and  the  red  spark  which 
lit  now  and  again  in  her  eyes  —  these  were  signs 
of  acute  disturbance  —  of  surrender  to  ideas 
strange  and  overwhelming.  As  she  stood  by  the 
368 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

doorway,  Mrs.  Jewett  knew  in  her  heart  that  Edith 
meant  for  Beatrice  a  clean  life  or  in  its  stead 
death.  The  angel  in  her  nature  had  been  thrust 
aside  by  a  very  devil  of  conceived  duty.  For 
herself,  the  best  she  might  do  was  to  stand  ready 
to  intervene. 

"  As  this  is  to  be  so  formal,"  she  said,  with  a 
play  of  lightness,  "  I  will  change  my  waist.  I 
think  the  enterprise  is  foolish,  but  I  will  not 
desert  you." 

They  found  Beatrice  in  the  great  drawing- 
room,  and  evidently  waiting  the  arrival  of  Chan- 
ning.  Morgan  had  gone  to  the  city,  and  Bea- 
trice's toilet  and  pose  of  formality  could  have 
no  other  meaning.  Her  amazement  at  the  appear- 
ance of  the  two  women  was  sweeping. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  you  about  Mr.  Channing," 
announced  Edith,  coldly.  Beatrice  stared  at  her. 
She  was  clearly  annoyed. 

"  If  you  wait  a  few  moments  he  will  be  here 
to  listen,"  she  said,  sharply.  Her  recovery  from 
Royer  had  begun. 

"  Mr.  Channing  was,  I  thought,  my  lover," 
began  Edith,  in  a  slow,  declamatory  fashion,  "  and 
I  still  think  that  did  I  care  to  contest  I  could  hold 
his  affections.  You  should  not  smile.  I  am  a 
beautiful  woman ;  I  am  a  rich  woman ;  I  have  all 

369 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  equipment  which  you  possess  except  immod- 
esty. If  I  abandoned  myself  as  you  do,  there  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  not  be  your  rival.  Mr. 
Channing  is  a  good  man,  a  man  of  noble  qualities. 
If  anything  will  stop  your  ravishing  of  hearts 
and  slaying  of  bodies  it  is  to  be  the  wife  of  such 
a  man  as  he.  In  the  interest  of  society  I  have 
decided  that  he  shall  become  your  husband." 

Beatrice  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  —  a 
slow,  oily  laugh  meant  to  irritate.  Edith  did 
not  notice  its  beginning  nor  did  she  await  its 
end.  She  went  on,  her  voice  measured  yet  sting- 
ing with  emphasis. 

"  I  will  stand  aside,"  she  said.  "  He  shall  be 
yours,  but  yours  to  hold.  I  am  betraying  him, 
of  course,  but  the  sacrifice  is  demanded.  I  know 
no  other  way  in  which  you  may  be  restrained." 

"  You  do  not  take  into  account  my  personal 
desires,"  said  Beatrice,  her  voice  full  of  satire. 

"  Your  personal  desires  have  not  been  counted. 
This  is  an  ultimatum." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"  You  are  to  marry  Mr.  Channing  because  your 
infamies  are  no  longer  tolerable." 

Beatrice  turned  to  Mrs.  Jewett. 

"  What  is  this,  Alice?  "  she  asked.    "  Is  Edith 
ill,  or  is  she  struggling  with  a  jest?  " 
370 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  I  suppose  she  is  thinking  of  Royer,"  answered 
Mrs.  Jewett,  dryly;  "she  saw  him  die,  you 
know." 

"  I  think  of  nothing  else  night  or  day,"  cried 
Edith,  with  a  quick  and  passionate  sob,  "  and 
why  do  not  you  ?  "  She  leaned  forward  with 
trembling  hands  held  out  before  her.  "  Cannot 
you  remember  that  dreadful  cough?  Don't  you 
recall  when  his  mouth  filled  with  sand  the  little 
piping  noise  he  made?  He  was  trying  to  cry 
v  Beatrice !  Beatrice ! '  and  yet  you  forget.  You  — 
you  forget !  " 

Beatrice  rose  to  her  feet,  white  and  shaking. 

"  If  you  have  any  other  absurd  propositions," 
she  said,  "  make  them  and  go,  but  I  will  not 
listen  about  Royer.  Royer  is  dead.  I  wish  to 
forget." 

Mrs.  Jewett  checked  the  hysteria. 

"  Speak,  Edith,  and  let  us  go.  We  would  not 
like  Mr.  Channing  to  know." 

"  There  is  only  the  alternative.  You  must 
marry  Mr.  Channing  or  dismiss  him  at  once.  If 
you  receive  his  attentions  I  shall  take  it  that  you 
intend  to  fulfil  my  wish.  But  if  you  be  not 
honest,  if  he,  too,  is  marked  for  pastime,  then 
I  am  going  to  accomplish  your  death." 

Beatrice  stared,  bewildered  but  serious.     Mrs. 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

Jewett  stood  to  one  side  like  a  witness  of  judg- 
ment. 

"  You  are  ridiculous,"  stammered  Beatrice. 

"  I  am  an  agent  of  God,"  answered  Edith. 

The  trio  hung  for  an  instant  in  silence.  Then 
the  soft  beat  of  footsteps  was  heard  in  the  hall. 
Mrs.  Jewett  touched  Edith  on  the  arm,  and  the 
two  hurried  out  through  another  door. 

"  In  the  morning,"  thought  Mrs.  Jewett,  sol- 
emnly, "  I  will  pack  up  my  things  and  go." 

But  in  the  morning  her  selfishness  seemed  rather 
shameful.  If  she  left  Edith  now  she  took  flight 
at  the  one  moment  when  she  might  be  of  service. 
The  crisis  which  had  arisen,  and  which  instinct 
told  her  was  grave,  sounded  alarms,  but  these 
had  less  weight  than  her  sense  of  duty.  So  she 
resolved  to  stay,  although  she  knew  her  part 
could  only  be  that  of  spectator.  Edith  had  set 
her  aside,  had  ruled  her  with  the  same  sweeping 
strength  which  in  a  measure  beat  down  the  un- 
concern of  her  sister.  At  the  moment  the  girl 
reared  a  giantess  of  possibilities. 

"  I  will  see  it  through,"  she  repeated,  over  and 
over.  "  It  may  mean  a  flash  of  hysteria,  or  there 
may  be  madness,  and  in  the  end  death,  but  my 
place  is  here.  God  grant  the  other  woman  real- 
ises. I  must  nourish  her  love  now  as  much  as 
372 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

I  fought  it  before.  Channing  shall  think  her 
everything  she  is  not." 

But  despite  her  resolves  she  found  it  trying 
work.  A  gloom  seemed  to  have  settled  over 
Bellamore  and  all  within  its  gates.  The  little 
company  moved  in  a  circle  of  artificial  intercourse. 
Beatrice  absorbed  Channing,  Edith  watched  Bea- 
trice, and  Morgan  and  Mrs.  Jewett  viewed  the 
play  and  waited  the  climax. 

Edith  passed  from  one  strange  aspect  to 
another.  The  laugh  had  gone  from  her  eyes  and 
speech  from  her  lips.  She  roamed  about  the  great 
house  with  every  hour  showing  its  new  record 
of  unrest.  The  girl's  face  lost  its  glow,  her  body 
paid  in  flesh  and  grace  its  steady  tribute,  and  she 
went  through  the  routine  of  living,  mechanically. 
So  far  as  possible  she  watched  her  sister  night  and 
day.  The  espionage  was  candid  and  constant. 
Beatrice  saw  it  and  laughed  in  her  face.  At 
times,  when  the  relentless  scrutiny  crossed  a 
gloomy  mood,  she  would  flash  out  in  a  devilish 
gust  of  anger.  But  neither  jest  nor  blast  drove 
Edith  back.  She  turned  deaf  ears,  and  the  sys- 
tematic spying  wrapped  Beatrice  about  as  in  a 
mantle. 

Channing  was  saved  from  annoyance  by  his 
passion.  He  did  not  see  the  by-play,  and  he  would 

373 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

not  have  understood  it  if  he  had.  His  conscience 
stifled  by  Edith's  reserve,  he  allowed  his  love  for 
Beatrice  full  swing.  Now  that  it  met  no  secret, 
strangling  opposition,  his  devotion  was  bounded 
only  by  her  desires.  He  fulfilled  to  the  letter  the 
part  Edith  wished  him  to  play,  although  every 
evidence  bit  into  her  pride  and  compounded  her 
agony.  Once  she  rushed  into  Mrs.  Jewett's  room 
and  threw  herself  into  her  arms  shaking  with 
tearless  sobs. 

"  I  could  not  bear  it,  Alice,"  she  cried.  "  He 
took  her  hand  and  smiled,  and  I  was  near  enough 
to  see  his  face." 

"It  is  what  you  want,  is  it  not,  dearest?" 
asked  Mrs.  Jewett,  gently. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Alice,  but  if  only  I  might  not  see." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  wrong  to  follow  her  — 
don't  you  think  it  is  better  to  leave  this  matter 
to  adjust  itself  naturally?" 

"  No,  Alice,  she  has  tricked  men  before.  I 
must  watch  her  to  see  that  she  does  not  make 
wreckage  of  his  hopes.  She  must  feel  that  ven- 
geance —  not  vengeance,  justice  —  hangs  over 
her  head." 

"  Edith,  you  are  killing  yourself.  You  have 
set  an  impossible  task." 


374 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"If  it  makes  him  happy  —  and  her  happy ; 
and  frees  society  ?  " 

"  Plan  what  you  will,  but  do  not  attach  a  threat 
as  an  alternative.  You  offend  Providence." 

"  I  sacrifice  myself,  Alice.  I  have  given  love, 
and  after  that  life  seems  but  a  little  more." 

"  '  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord.'  You 
are  not  my  executioner.  There  is  nothing,  there 
can  be  nothing,  that  demands  you  shall  be  a 
murderess." 

Edith  walked  away  with  a  dry  laugh. 

"  Let  us  hope  the  alternative  is  not  needed,"  she 
said.  "  If  it  is,  I  shall  remember  myself  last 
of  all." 

Once  only  did  she  speak  to  Beatrice.  The  latter 
had  halted  her  on  the  stairway,  and  scourged  her 
with  words  of  flame.  When  she  paused,  Edith 
gazed  at  her  sternly. 

"  He  loves  you,"  she  said,  "  you  should  love 
him.  You  are  delaying,  and  there  is  no  reason  to 
delay.  Remember  that  I  am  Nemesis." 

"You  are  a  fool." 

It  was  Morgan  who  noted  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  "  I  think  Channing  is  falling  behind,"  he 
declared,  in  one  of  his  many  conferences  with 
Mrs.  Jewett. 


375 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  exclaimed,  startled 
and  afraid. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  check  the  har- 
mony. A  trifle,  perhaps,  but  still  Channing  is 
such  a  weather-vane  that  he  betrays  every  shift  of 
the  wind." 

"Has  this  been  long?" 

"  A  day  or  two." 

"  I  trust  you  are  mistaken.  In  any  case,  say 
nothing  to  Edith." 

"  She  has  not  spoken  to  me  for  a  week.  I  some- 
times think  she  does  not  recognise  me." 

"  Edith  should  be  in  a  hospital." 

"Or  —  " 

"  No,  no,  not  that  —  Let  us  talk  of  something 
else." 

It  soon  became  evident  that  the  harmony,  if 
not  broken,  had  in  it  a  thin,  discordant  note  which 
meant  trouble.  Channing  had  but  poorly  dis- 
guised his  frequent  irritation,  and  the  progress  of 
his  suit  was  to  be  noted  in  his  shifting  moods. 
Mrs.  Jewett  saw  that  he  was  undergoing  the  usual 
mutations  of  Beatrice's  love-making.  The  great 
question  lay  in  results.  If  the  romance  lived,  all 
would  be  well,  except  for  Edith.  If  it  did  not  — 
seeing  so  much  herself,  she  wondered  how  much 
more  Edith  had  seen.  Nothing  of  change  could 
376 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

escape  that  deadly  watching,  and  these  minor 
proofs  of  Channing's  setback  would  be  magnified. 
But  closely  as  she  looked,  there  was  in  Edith 
no  sign  that  marked  discoveries.  She  was  whiter, 
more  distraught,  but  always  quiet.  Her  confi- 
dences had  ceased,  also,  and  Mrs.  Jewett  could 
only  guess  at  the  state  of  her  plans. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Morgan  shocked  her  by 
saying  he  was  to  leave.  She  had  come  so  to 
depend  on  his  advice  and  opinions  that  she 
dreaded  to  be  alone. 

"  Rats  desert  a  sinking  ship,"  she  said,  with 
a  mournful  smile. 

"  That  is  rather  a  dismal  quotation  all  around," 
he  answered,  "  but  the  truth  is  my  conscience 
must  be  met." 

"  How  ?    I  thought  it  was  the  cleanest  of  all." 

"  I  have  attacked  my  hostess,  and  although  my 
motives  have  been  good,  I  do  not  feel  like  any 
further  abuse  of  hospitality.  What  I  have  done 
has  been  from  love,  but  the  deceit  weighs  on 
me." 

"  You  have  as  much  right  to  protect  Edith 
as  I." 

"  Not  quite.  In  a  sense,  you  are  one  of  the 
family.  Besides,  Channing  is  unbearable." 

"  He  visits  on  you  the  fruits  of  uncertainty." 

377 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Just  so.  And  it  is  this  uncertainty  which 
shows  me  his  failure.  He  is  like  any  other 
thwarted  man." 

"Is  it  so  bad  as  that?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Jewett,  Channing's  case  is 
hopeless.  Beatrice  took  him  at  first  to  annoy 
Edith;  afterward  it  was  distraction;  now  it  is 
nothing  —  it  is  weariness." 

"  It  amazes  me  that  she  should  fly  in  the  face  of 
Edith.  She  does  not  realise  her  peril." 

"  How  could  she  ?  Edith  has  always  been  a 
small,  slight  thing  in  the  view  of  Beatrice.  She 
cannot  dignify  her  desperation,  because  she  does 
not  grasp  it." 

"  She  can  see  what  is  visible  to  you  and  me." 

"  Not  so.  Beatrice  is  far  too  selfish  to  accept 
anything  that  violates  her  egotism.  She  does 
not  dream  that  Edith  is  stronger  than  she." 

"You  believe  it?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  more  fearful  than  I  seem.  It 
is  Edith's  grief,  too,  which  is  driving  me  away.  I 
love  her  so  much  that  I  wish  to  spare  myself." 

"  It  is  a  great  pity  these  women  could  not  have 
fastened  on  you,  a  strong  man,  Morgan.  I  shall 
see  you  in  the  city.  This  air  must  clear  soon. 
Meantime  you  have  nothing  to  regret." 

With  the  exit  of  Morgan,  Mrs.  Jewett  felt  the 
378 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

cloud  settling  denser  and  less  endurable.  She  was 
in  fact  a  lonely  derelict  amid  the  current  of  events. 
Edith  slipped  here  and  there,  watching,  observing, 
but  seeing  only  the  objects  of  her  espionage; 
Channing  was  lost  in  his  passion,  and  Beatrice 
noticed  her  only  to  sneer. 

"  Why,  it  is  Mrs.  Jewett !  "  she  mockingly  ex- 
claimed once.  "  I  rather  thought  you  had  gone." 

"  If  I  were  more  indifferent  to  your  safety  I 
would  go,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett;  "  you  have  to  deal 
with  a  half-crazed  evangel  of  reform,  and  you  act 
as  though  she  were  an  unruly  child." 

"  You  mean  Edith,"  scoffed  Beatrice.  "  Yes, 
of  course,  Edith."  Then  she  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders and  passed  on. 

One  night  shortly  after  the  dinner-hour  Mrs. 
Jewett  heard  voices  in  the  main  hallway  raised 
in  petulant  interchange.  She  stepped  from  the 
reception-room,  in  which  she  had  been  seated,  just 
in  time  to  see  Beatrice  and  Captain  Channing  enter 
the  room  adjoining.  Mrs.  Jewett  started  up  the 
stairs  leading  to  the  second  landing,  and,  glancing 
back  at  the  first  landing,  she  was  surprised  to 
see  Edith  make  her  appearance  near  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  coming,  apparently,  from  the 
deserted  music-room  across  the  hall.  The  girl 
stood  an  instant  looking  down  the  wide  way  and 

379 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

listening.  Then  with  quick,  stealthy  tread  she 
passed  into  the  apartment  deserted  by  Mrs.  Jewett 
and  closed  the  door. 

Mrs.  Jewett  turned  away  sick  at  heart. 

"  Eavesdropping !  "  she  whispered,  "  my  poor, 
poor  Edith !  "  The  incident  oppressed  her  terribly. 
She  dragged  along  to  her  rooms  full  of  sorrow 
and  keenly  alive  to  the  chill  of  a  premonition. 
If  this  were  Edith's  method,  it  pointed  an  even 
greater  desperation  than  she  had  thought.  It 
was  her  first  view  of  the  girl's  tactics,  and  the 
shock  of  seeing  was  in  no  wise  relieved  by  knowl- 
edge of  their  operation. 

The  boudoir  of  Mrs.  Jewett's  suite  was  the 
last  room  of  a  wing,  which,  in  the  unsystematic 
architecture  of  the  whole  house,  ran  at  an  angle 
from  the  main  building,  boxing  it  in,  and  forming 
a  light  well  between  the  two  portions.  All  the 
windows  of  Mrs.  Jewett's  suite  looked  directly 
into  the  windows  of  the  rooms  occupied  by  Bea- 
trice in  the  main  building.  The  distance  between 
was  not  fifteen  feet.  The  dressing-room,  with 
its  cheval  mirrors,  its  dainty  toilet-tables  and 
friendly  couches,  was  the  favourite  lounging-place 
of  Mrs.  Jewett,  and  she  went  there  now,  hoping 
to  win  from  its  solitude  some  plan  of  profitable 
action. 

380 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

The  night  was  close,  and  she  drew  up  a  chair  to 
the  open  window  to  catch  the  light,  fanning  airs 
that  blew  in  from  the  Sound.  After  a  time  the 
silence  and  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere  beat 
down  her  mental  activities,  and  she  nodded,  then 
passed  off  into  a  doze.  She  was  roused  suddenly 
by  a  flash  of  light  from  the  room  over  the  way. 
Beatrice  had  entered,  and  stood  in  a  curious 
attitude  of  waiting,  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  hall 
door.  Mrs.  Jewett's  numbed  faculties  were  inat- 
tentive, but  they  revived  at  once  when  she  saw 
the  door  fly  open  and  Edith  step  into  the  room. 
She  closed  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Jewett  noted  her 
hand  reach  backward  and  fumble  with  the  key. 
Then  in  a  moment  she  was  at  her  sister's  side,  her 
voice  coming  through  the  window  in  a  thin, 
piping  stream  of  pleading  and  rebuke.  The 
watcher  heard  the  name  Channing  once  or  twice, 
but  could  make  nothing  of  what  she  said.  Mrs. 
Jewett  forgot  her  hate  of  eavesdropping.  She 
recognised  that  the  hour  of  climax  had  struck,  and 
she  leaned  forward  in  the  darkness,  eager  to  catch 
each  fragment  of  dialogue. 

The  answer  Beatrice  made  came  through  the 
silence  snappily. 

"  Yes,  I  sent  him  away,"  Mrs.  Jewett  heard 
her  cry.  "  I  told  him  to  go  to  New  York,  because 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  man  is  a  dreary  sentimentalist.  I  never  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  a  lien  on  my  affections.  I  told 
him  the  truth." 

Mrs.  Jewett  did  not  hear  Edith's  retort.  It 
was  long  and  passionate,  marked  with  gestures 
and  full  of  threatening.  Beatrice  walked  away 
from  her,  but  Edith  followed  closely.  They  trav- 
ersed the  room  in  a  bitter  war  of  words;  then 
the  silent  watcher  saw  something  which  brought 
her  to  her  feet  quivering  with  fright.  Beatrice, 
passing  before  the  window,  turned  suddenly,  and 
with  one  hand  reached  out  and  pushed  her  sister 
roughly  backward.  As  though  the  aggression 
signalled  an  uprising  of  every  chained  devil  in 
her  soul,  Edith's  attitude  changed  to  deadly 
reprisal.  She  staggered  a  trifle,  clutched  at  sup- 
port, and  then  with  one  cat-like  sweep  bounded 
toward  her  sister.  Mrs.  Jewett  saw  her  hands 
fly  up  together  and  meet  around  Beatrice's  throat, 
and  a  struggle,  silent  and  desperate,  whirled  the 
figures  stumbling  across  the  little  room. 

The  palsy  of  horror  held  Mrs.  Jewett  prisoner 
only  for  an  instant  —  the  next,  she  was  racing 
madly  through  the  rooms  toward  the  hallway. 
There  was  some  delay  at  the  door,  which  she  had 
locked  on  entering,  but  she  won  through,  and  a 
few  flying  steps  brought  her  to  the  theatre  of 
382 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

tragedy.  With  some  vague  idea  that  scandal 
might  yet  be  saved,  she  did  not  cry  out;  instead 
her  fists  beat  a  frenzied  tattoo  on  the  panels  of  the 
barrier.  Terrible  moments  passed  without  an- 
swer. Then  she  heard  slow  footsteps  crossing 
the  floor,  the  key  rasped  around,  and  Edith  stood 
before  her  on  the  threshold. 

Her  dress  was  ripped  away  until  the  white  of 
her  heaving  chest  lay  bare;  down  her  shoulders 
her  hair  hung  in  a  disordered  cataract ;  a  scratch 
ran  aslant  her  face  from  mouth  to  temple. 

"  It  is  all  over,  Alice,"  she  whispered,  weakly. 
"  I  have  killed  the  cockatrice.  It  is  peace  for  her 
and  peace  for  the  world."  She  moved  backward 
into  the  room,  wavering  and  shaking.  One  finger 
pointed  to  a  spot  near  the  window. 

"  I  told  her  the  truth,  Alice,"  she  went  on, 
numbly.  "  I  told  her  long,  long,  long  ago.  The 
wages  of  sin  is  —  is  —  what  you  see  there." 

In  a  crumpled  heap  lay  the  body  of  Beatrice. 


383 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

7j  y/'RS.  JEWETT  laboured  mightily  to  stay 
/m/i  the  hand  of  the  law.  She  hired 
lawyers,  looked  up  witnesses,  and  called 
to  her  aid  the  influence  of  society.  So  when  the 
day  came  that  Edith  faced  a  jury,  charged  with 
first  degree  murder,  Mrs.  Jewett  felt  certain  the 
scales  were  weighted  in  her  favour.  She  had  been 
able  to  do  a  great  deal,  for  the  campaign  of 
Beatrice  had  restored  her,  and,  although  society 
was  inclined  to  let  the  Cameron  tragedy  work  out 
its  own  fruits,  Mrs.  Jewett  managed  to  get  some 
powerful  aid.  Thus  she  impressed  the  judge, 
thus  also  two  of  the  twelve  men  who  were  to 
pass  on  Edith's  fate,  and  money  placed  here  and 
there  ensured  the  close  hobbling  of  the  prosecu- 
tion. Her  most  powerful  helper  was  public 
opinion.  By  the  time  Edith  was  brought  to 
trial,  hardly  a  man,  woman,  or  child  was 
unfamiliar  with  the  strange  and  terrible  story  of 
her  vengeance.  One  by  one  the  facts  of  Beatrice's 
career  came  upon  the  public  dissecting-table,  and 

384 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

the  result  was  just  what  Mrs.  Jewett  wished  — 
if  there  was  not  condonement,  there  was  at  least 
a  feeling  that  the  infamies  of  the  dead  woman 
might  readily  have  crazed  such  a  gentle  and  relig- 
ious character  as  Edith.  The  whole  public  set  her 
down  as  demented.  But,  after  all,  it  was  Edith 
herself,  flying  in  the  face  of  the  defence,  who  slew 
the  trifling  chance  of  conviction.  She  had  sat  day 
after  day  in  stony  indifference  to  her  fate.  Noth- 
ing aroused  her,  nothing  interested  her,  except  the 
attack  made  by  the  prosecution  on  the  career  of 
Mrs.  Jewett.  Then  she  listened  to  the  cross- 
examination  with  streaming  eyes.  But  when  her 
own  counsel,  in  summing  up,  based  his  whole  plea 
upon  insanity,  she  rose  in  her  place  and  stopped 
him. 

;<  You  have  no  right  to  say  that  aberration  was 
the  cause  of  this  trouble,"  she  cried.  "  I  killed  my 
sister,  yes,  and  I  have  suffered  a  thousand  more 
agonies  than  it  is  within  the  power  of  this  jury 
to  inflict.  But  I  killed  her  because  the  welfare  of 
society  demanded  it.  I  sacrificed  my  life  and 
soul  for  society.  My  doom  lies  in  my  own 
memory;  my  punishment  is  eternal.  When  this 
verdict,  then,  is  so  trivial,  let  us  not  offend  with 
falsehoods." 

From  that  moment  the  jurymen  made  up  their 

385 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

minds  —  Edith's  madness  was  not  to  be  ques- 
tioned. She  was  sent  to  be  an  associate  of 
the  State's  criminal  insane.  At  the  end  of  a  year 
the  never-ceasing  pressure  which  Mrs.  Jewett 
put  on  the  authorities  won.  Edith  was  again 
examined  and  discharged  as  cured. 

When  the  day  came  for  her  release,  Mrs. 
Jewett  dreaded  to  see  her.  She  expected  a  wreck- 
age of  mind  and  body.  She  was  at  the  matron's 
office  early,  and  questioned  the  guardian  to  the 
last  detail. 

"  She  has  lived  the  life  of  a  broken-hearted 
woman,"  explained  the  matron ;  "  the  things 
about  her  were  almost  unknown  and  unthought  of. 
I  have  seen  her  sit  by  an  open  window  five  hours 
on  end,  thinking  and  staring  and  thinking.  When 
she  did  show  any  interest  in  her  surroundings  it 
was  her  most  cheerful  time." 

"  Was  she  in  fear  of  the  other  inmates  ?  Did 
they  depress  her  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  The  few  times  when  she 
seemed  to  escape  from  her  gloom  she  gave  to 
helping  anybody  and  everybody  about  her.  She 
was  full  of  plans  to  make  these  unfortunates  have 
a  good  time,  and  she  offered  me  any  financial  aid, 
that  I  might  not  have  to  worry  over  the  institu- 
386 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

tion  funds.  I  gave  the  women  several  little  enter- 
tainments on  her  money,  but,  generally  speaking, 
her  misery  seemed  to  absorb  her  completely." 

When  Edith  entered  the  room  Mrs.  Jewett  was 
pleased  to  see  that  the  changes  she  had  feared, 
whatever  else,  had  not  extended  to  her  physical 
being.  There  was  the  prison  pallor,  and  her  hair 
had  thinned,  but  these  were  the  only  marks,  while 
the  features  had  acquired  a  strange  repose. 

She  did  not  cry  out,  nor  did  she  weep.  Neither 
did  she  smile.  She  clung  to  Mrs.  Jewett  and 
kissed  her  repeatedly,  but  the  emotion  was  passing 
and  succeeded  by  reserve.  Almost  all  the  way  to 
the  city  she  was  silent,  but  in  the  quiet  of  Mrs. 
Jewett's  hotel  a  reaction  born  of  familiar  environ- 
ment changed  her.  The  words  came  in  a  rush. 

"  I  am  a  murderess,  Alice,"  she  said,  sitting 
down  before  her  companion  and  taking  her  hand. 
"  It  came  to  me  in  the  asylum  —  the  presumption, 
the  blasphemy  —  the  crime.  I  killed  Beatrice  be- 
cause she  robbed  my  heart,  and  not  because  my 
conscience  drove  me  to  act.  I  affronted  God,  and 
yet  I  am  here.  Don't  you  think  it  is  because  I 
am  to  be  given  a  chance  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dearest?  " 

"  I  mean  that  if  I  devote  myself  to  His  work, 


387 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

if  I  abandon  the  world  and  all  it  holds  for  me  — 
what  do  you  think,  Alice?" 

"  I  cannot  quote  the  Bible  to  you,  —  I  do  not 
know  it,  —  but,  Edith,  remember  the  thief  on  the 
cross,  and  think  also  of  the  countless  pleas  for 
sinners  to  return.  The  Bible  holds  not  merely 
hope  for  such  as  you,  but  promise." 

"  Yes,  Alice,  but  —  it  —  it  was  murder." 

"  Then  try  for  the  one  life  you  have  taken  to 
make  a  thousand  others  brighter.  Who  can  say, 
Edith?  You  will  never  be  the  same  here,  and 
you  must  fasten  your  thoughts  on  expiation. 
That  in  itself  will  give  you  the  only  happiness 
you  may  know.  I  say,  yes,  do  the  thing  you 
suggest,  and  leave  the  judgment  with  God.  But 
if  you  elect  otherwise,  you  can  seek  joy  in  another 
place.  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you." 

"  No,  no,  not  that.  I  only  ask  for  hope ;  I  do 
not  seek  happiness." 

"  Then  stay  here  where  the  field  is  wide.  With 
work  will  come  hope  —  in  your  case,  dearest,  hope 
will  mean  peace." 

It  was  the  first  of  many  such  talks,  and  in  the 
end  Edith  rose  up  and  went  down  into  the  heart 
of  the  vineyard  where  misery  and  crime  sowed 
the  seeds  of  an  endless  harvest.  She  became  a 
medium  of  hope  to  legions  without  hope,  and  her 
388 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

charities  knew  no  limit.  To  all  the  world  except 
this  wretched  section,  her  identity  was  a  thing 
dead.  It  was  never  indicated  except  on  the  thou- 
sands of  checks  which  she  scattered  like  manna 
in  the  deserts  of  the  poor,  and  even  Mrs.  Jewett 
almost  lost  sight  of  her  in  the  endless  calls  of  her 
work.  One  time  she  found  her  leading  the  singing 
in  a  street  band  of  Salvationists,  another  time  she 
was  distributing  gifts  in  a  hall  to  a  company  of 
urchins,  and  still  again  she  caught  up  with  her 
just  when  she  was  leading  a  band  of  little  ones 
off  for  a  week's  jaunt  in  the  country.  There  was 
colour  in  her  cheeks  and  on  her  lips  almost  a 
smile. 

"  I  have  promised  them  visions  of  real,  live 
cows,"  she  whispered,  happily,  "  and  straw  rides 
and  a  trip  on  the  lake,  and  the  poor  little  things  are 
nearly  crazy  at  the  prospect." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jewett, 
impulsively. 

"  Certainly,  Alice.  They  will  all  love  you,  I 
know,  and  you  can  help  me  explain  the  mysteries." 

So  they  went  along  together,  and  Mrs.  Jewett 
had  a  strange,  fascinating  time,  in  which  she  told 
back  alley  waifs  why  a  mountain  was  a  mountain, 
and  what  induced  little  chickens  to  leave  their 
shells,  and  why  a  duck  could  live  on  land  as  well 

389 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

as  water,  and  in  the  end  she  thanked  Edith  for 
a  proud  experience. 

Nor  did  Edith's  work  end  with  mere  personal 
service.  She  put  into  effect  a  hundred  schemes 
for  the  benefit  of  the  suffering.  Grocery  stores 
were  opened  where  pure  goods  could  be  had  at 
cost;  tenements  were  built,  homes  of  light  and 
conveniences,  and  filled  at  small  rentals;  ice  was 
distributed  over  a  wide  territory,  and  the  spectre 
of  medical  aid  was  banished  by  the  service  of 
doctors  who  looked  only  to  Edith  for  their  pay. 

In  summer  Edith  leased  several  steamboats  and 
took  thousands  of  women  and  children  for  a  day's 
jaunt  up  the  river,  and  in  winter  there  was  a 
periodical  distribution  of  useful  gifts.  Then  she 
tried  here  and  there  to  teach  a  lesson  in  spiritual 
growth.  She  talked  of  God  where  the  hills  and 
fields  made  His  hand  manifest,  and  she  strove 
to  show  these  unfortunates  the  need  of  higher 
ambitions  and  more  elevated  desires.  It  was 
fierce,  disheartening  labour,  but  when  she  saw 
signs  of  uplifting,  the  victory  filled  her  with  a 
great  joy. 

Edith  avoided  the  regular  charities,  because  she 
wished  for  all  the  work  she  could  find  to  do,  and 
she  wished  also  to  be  unknown.  Her  incognito 
was  successful.  Not  one  of  her  old  associates 

390 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

identified  her  with  the  angel  of  the  slums.  Edith 
Cameron,  except  to  her  bankers,  had  become  a 
pitiful  memory. 

When  she  had  reached  a  point  in  her  labours 
where  a  vast  body  of  people  graded  her  almost 
divine,  a  calamity,  swift  and  terrible,  snatched 
away  the  blessing  of  her  work.  Wall  Street  was 
shaken  by  one  of  its  blind  panics,  and  in  the 
wreck  of  values  the  Cameron  estate  suffered  ruin. 
Edith  saw  the  bulk  of  her  fortune  hopelessly 
involved.  For  herself  she  cared  nothing  —  her 
life  was  the  austere  routine  of  a  missionary  —  but 
when  one  charity  after  another  had  to  be  given 
up,  her  regret  was  almost  a  madness.  She  called 
on  the  great  philanthropists  for  help,  but  some 
were  suspicious  and  others  favoured  the  regular 
societies.  Her  one  supporter  was  Mrs.  Jewett. 
In  the  end  Edith  drew  together  what  remained 
of  her  fortune  and  created  a  trust  fund  for  the 
support  of  the  tenements  and  the  doctors,  but  the 
rest  of  the  bounties  fell  to  the  ground,  and  she 
could  not  bear  to  view  the  contrast  between  the 
present  and  the  glory  of  the  past. 

So  one  day,  Mrs.  Jewett  coming  from  a  shop- 
ping tour,  found  her  sitting  in  her  room  full  of 
a  new  plan  and  eager  for  endorsement. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Philippines,"  she  explained, 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  and  I  must  lose  no  time  in  getting  away.  The 
rains  are  over,  and  I  expect  there  will  be  hard 
fighting  at  once.  Of  course  I  know,  Alice,  that 
my  work  here  should  not  be  left,  but  I  need  the 
change.  I  feel  that  I  can  come  back  to  it  with 
a  new  vigour  when  I  have  recovered  from  my 
loss." 

"  I  am  delighted,  Edith.  You  have  certainly 
won  rest." 

"  But  you  do  not  understand.  I  am  going  out 
as  a  volunteer  nurse.  It  is  a  transfer  of  labour." 

"In  the  army?" 

"  Yes,  the  army." 

Mrs.  Jewett  moved  over  to  Edith  and  clutched 
her  arm. 

"  Edith,"  she  exclaimed,  tensely,  "  it  is  not 
Channing?  Tell  me  it  is  not  Channing." 

"  O,  Alice !  how  can  you  be  so  cruel  —  how 
can  you  think  —  " 

Mrs.  Jewett  slipped  her  arm  about  the  shrinking 
form. 

"  Say  no  more,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  hope  so  for 
your  future  that  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it 
being  marred  by  reviving  passion.  You  had  best 
never  see  him  again.  He  is  there  and  you  may 
meet,  but  remember,  Edith,  you  are  given  to  other 
things.  Put  away  the  past.  Let  us  remember 

392 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

its  people  no  more  than  its  deeds,  and  then  only  to 
draw  lessons  from  one  or  the  other.  You  are 
forbidden  to  love,  dearest,  but  in  its  place  will 
come  that  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding." 

All  through  the  blazing  morning  the  men  of 
the  Forty-first  Regiment  had  been  chasing  acro- 
batic brown  men  who  exploded  Mausers.  From 
one  inferno  of  jungle  maze  to  others  more  infer- 
nal, the  khaki  hunters  had  struggled  on,  shooting 
some,  charging  some,  and  resting  only  when 
movement  meant  sunstroke  or  insanity.  Behind 
every  bullet  was  an  oath,  and  before  each  man 
visions  of  water  and  of  sometime  rest.  And 
always  the  little  brown  men  were  just  beyond 
that  rise  of  hill,  just  through  that  patch  of  wood, 
just  out  of  reach  of  leaden  missile,  except  at  inter- 
vals when  a  warm  and  twitching  body  encouraged 
them  still  to  press  onward.  Crackling  ripples  of 
fire  ran  along  the  lines,  and  once  or  twice  when 
the  enemy  made  a  halt,  the  regular  crash  of  volley 
firing  gave  dignity  to  the  combat,  but  generally 
the  shooting  was  pot-luck  and  directed  widely  at 
the  scenery.  But  the  colonel  would  not  give  up, 
and  the  curse  of  midday  sun  only  brought  him  to 
know  that  he  was  killing  fewer  Filipinos  than 


393 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

he  was  Americans.  Then  he  turned  the  column 
and  followed  the  hateful  trail  backward. 

The  regiment  had  come  through  from  Manila 
before  dawn,  and  had  reached  the  little  town  which 
they  were  sent  to  relieve  just  in  time  to  march 
through  one  end  and  out  at  the  other  in  instant 
assault  on  the  natives.  For  weeks  the  Filipinos 
had  circled  the  town  with  a  ring  of  fire,  and 
boxed  up  the  single  company  guarding  its  pre- 
cincts until  they  cried  for  relief.  Their  defence 
had  become  historic.  The  merciless  snipping  that 
went  on  from  every  quarter  of  the  compass,  and 
that  never  ceased  six  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four, 
had  laid  out  man  after  man.  But  still  the  point 
must  be  held,  as  it  was  the  strategic  centre  of  a 
hostile  district,  so  the  general  sent  down  Colonel 
Channing  and  the  Forty-first  to  save  the  remnants, 
and  to  clear  up  the  jungle. 

As  he  marched  through  the  world  of  blasting 
heat,  Colonel  Channing  appreciated  the  heroism 
of  the  garrison  in  a  way  hearsay  had  never  allowed 
him  to  do.  The  natural  terrors  of  the  country, 
coupled  with  the  fighting,  the  failure  of  food,  and 
the  need  of  eternal  vigilance,  bred  in  him  a  mighty 
admiration.  "  And  to  think,"  he  murmured, 
happily,  "  old  Morgan  is  the  hero  of  it  all." 

The  major  of  the  regiment  rode  up  alongside 

394 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

of  him,  his  face  a  lake  of  moisture,  and  his  teeth 
clinched  hard. 

"  Pardon,  Colonel  Channing,"  he  said,  fiercely, 
"  but  I  think  this  new  station  of  ours  is  quite  the 
most  damnable  strip  of  the  whole  damnable 
country.  I  am  thinking  now  of  the  Luneta.  I 
can  smell  the  breeze  over  the  bay." 

Channing  smiled  with  encouragement. 

"  I  think  for  awhile,  Thurston,"  he  said,  "  we 
had  best  forget  the  Luneta.  Think  of  poor 
Morgan  and  his  people.  Four  months  of  this 
thing,  and  every  stray  breeze  full  of  bullets." 

"  I  will  swap  the  heat  for  the  bullets." 

"  I  imagine  that  is  the  general  choice.  Our 
records  show  which  is  worse." 

"  They  tell  me  there  is  a  wonderful  woman 
locked  up  with  the  garrison,  a  nurse,  who  is 
credited  with  the  nerviest  feat  of  the  war.  Have 
you  heard  of  her?  " 

"Miss  Locker,  you  mean?  Indeed,  I  have. 
All  Manila  is  talking  about  her.  The  general 
says  she  ought  to  have  the  thanks  of  Congress." 

"  Tell  me  about  it.  You  know  I  was  down  at 
Corregidor  last  month,  and  I  am  a  bit  shy  on  the 
details." 

"  I  know  them  pretty  well,  because  you  see 
Morgan  is  an  old  friend,  and  I  looked  them  up. 

395 


A     SOCIAL    COCKATRICE 

It  appears  Morgan  sallied  out  one  day  to  beat 
up  the  underbrush,  and  she  went  along  as  a  spec- 
tator. The  men  struck  the  brownies  close  up  to 
the  town,  and  there  was  Hail  Columbia  for  a 
few  minutes  all  along  the  line.  The  men  were 
lying  back  of  a  bank,  and  were  doing  nicely  when 
Morgan  thought  he  would  push  out  and  occupy 
the  ridge  held  by  the  natives.  He  walked  forward 
about  twenty  feet  when  he  got  a  bullet  in  his 
shoulder  and  went  down.  The  place  where  he 
fell  was  a  bit  of  clearing,  and  as  he  lay  there  the 
men  could  see  the  Filipinos  were  making  a  target 
of  him.  The  bullets  were  chipping  the  ground 
all  around.  I  don't  say  the  men  would  not  have 
gone  after  him;  undoubtedly  they  would,  but 
before  any  one  could  move  this  woman  came  flying 
through  the  firing  line  and  dashed  right  up  to 
where  he  lay.  She  leaned  over  and  grasped  him 
under  the  shoulders.  Then  while  the  whole 
Filipino  outfit  was  firing  at  her  she  actually  tried 
to  drag  him  back  to  safety,  and  you  know,  Thurs- 
ton,  Morgan  is  nothing  in  the  way  of  a  fairy." 

"  Gad,  the  pluck  of  it !  and  what  did  the  men 
do?" 

"  Why,  they  jumped  after  her  pell-mell.  She 
knew  they  would,  I  guess,  when  she  went  after 


396 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

him.  By  the  time  they  arrived,  though,  she  was 
lying  alongside  the  captain." 

"  Too  bad,  Colonel,  too  bad.  She  was  hurt, 
I  believe." 

"Oh,  she  was  terribly  cut  up!  There  was  a 
frightful  gash  along  the  cheek,  and  both  arms 
were  struck.  She  lost  one  of  them,  I  think.  Had 
to  amputate  it  at  once." 

"  How  was  Morgan?  " 

"  He  escaped  with  his  original  wound." 

"  The  woman  is  splendid,  colonel,  and  I  am 
going  to  tell  her  so  the  minute  we  get  to  town." 

"  So  are  we  all,"  said  Channing,  earnestly. 
"  Every  man  in  the  regiment  is  burning  to  see 
her,  and  between  you  and  me,  we  will  do  some- 
thing handsome  in  the  way  of  a  tribute  when 
I  get  my  bearings.  The  sad  part  of  the  story  is 
that  she  was  a  beautiful  woman,  but  now  —  " 

"  O,  never  mind  that,  colonel.  The  scar  is 
a  badge  that  makes  beauty  of  its  own  kind.  I 
am  heart  and  soul  in  your  tribute  scheme,  and  if 
you  want  anything  done  give  me  preference.  But 
how  did  she  come  to  be  in  this  hole?" 

"  Asked  to  be  attached  to  Morgan's  command. 
Said  she  knew  him  in  the  States.  I  have  never 
seen  him  to  ask  about  it." 

"  There  is  the  town  now.    If  you  don't  object 

397 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

I  will  pass  your  word  long  that  if  we  meet  Miss 
Locker  the  men  are  to  march  by  her  at  salute. 
They  will  all  turn  out  to  see  us,  I  guess." 

"  Go  ahead,  Thurston  —  it  is  a  happy  thought. 
I  only  hope  she  is  on  her  feet  again." 

When  the  stricken  outpost  saw  the  column 
straggling  up  the  trail,  down  which  it  had  raced 
in  the  early  morning,  the  whole  community  turned 
out  to  welcome  its  saviours.  The  natives  had 
made  a  particularly  vicious  assault  at  dawn,  and 
in  the  hurry  of  action  the  new  regiment  had  not 
even  had  time  to  exchange  greetings,  so  that  their 
arrival  now  was  practically  their  first  meeting 
with  the  garrison. 

Every  man  not  on  his  back  in  the  hospital  was 
gathered  on  the  south  side  of  the  village,  Filipinos 
and  Americans  alike.  The  friendly  natives  and 
their  wives  were  just  as  much  interested  as  the 
soldiers,  and  the  arrival  of  eight  hundred  odd  men 
carrying  Krags  and  wearing  decent  uniforms 
threw  them  into  a  high  fever  of  excitement. 

When  the  first  of  the  long,  irregular  line  came 
into  hailing  distance,  the  ragged  mob  let  fly  with 
a  storm  of  welcome.  The  half-dead  defenders 
hurled  their  hats  in  the  air,  waved  rifles  abroad, 
and  danced  on  the  ground,  while  the  natives, 


398 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

seized  with  the  festival  spirit,  followed  suit  and 
clapped  their  hands  like  children. 

Channing  gazed  on  the  scene  with  swimming 
eyes. 

"  You  are  right,  Thurston,"  he  said,  huskily. 
"  The  whole  town  has  turned  out,  and  the  poor 
fellows  are  evidently  glad  we  came." 

"  Yes,  and,  by  Jove,  there  is  the  lady  —  see, 
she  is  leaning  on  Morgan's  arm." 

"  So  she  is  —  well,  march  by  the  crowd  and 
give  her  a  salute." 

As  the  soldiers  filed  into  the  village  there  was  a 
hasty  effort  to  bring  them  into  company  forma- 
tion, —  not  very  serious  because  the  men  were 
crazy  with  fatigue  and  the  murderous  heat,  — 
but  the  movement  bunched  the  fighters  somewhat, 
and  gave  the  regiment  a  look  of  regularity. 

When  directly  before  Morgan,  Channing  leaned 
from  his  horse  to  shake  hands,  but  he  saw  first 
the  face  of  the  woman  by  his  side,  and  in  an 
instant  he  stiffened  in  his  saddle  His  hand  flew 
up  in  an  awkward  salute,  and  he  rode  by  without 
stopping.  He  viewed  the  blazing  desolation  about 
him,  he  heard  the  pounding  of  his  horse's  hoofs, 
but  the  material  world  seemed  vague  and  unreal 
under  the  numbing  influence  of  the  shock  he  had 
received. 

399 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Edith  Cameron !  "  he  murmured.  "  My  God, 
Edith  Cameron !  " 

And  then  as  he  rode  stonily  onward,  he  heard 
behind  him  the  sudden  explosion  of  a  roaring 
cheer,  a  wild  harmony  of  tribute  and  joy  that 
began  at  the  head  of  the  ecru  column  and  jour- 
neyed backward  like  a  thrilling  echo.  He  turned 
in  his  saddle  and  saw  every  man  in  the  ranks 
looking  toward  the  little,  broken  figure  by  Mor- 
gan's side,  cheering  his  loudest,  and  darkening 
the  air  with  hats  waved  in  frantic  salute.  And 
as  he  moved  on  to  maintain  the  march  he  saw 
the  next  company  break  out  in  a  fresh  thunder  of 
applause,  and  on  and  on  down  the  whole  line  of 
eight  hundred  men  the  vocal  ovation  rose  and  fell 
like  the  trumpeting  of  a  mighty  wind.  Capping 
the  splendid  compliment  of  their  huzzas,  the  men 
fell  to  porting  arms  as  they  passed,  and  the  gleams 
struck  by  the  shifting  Krags  made  of  the  move- 
ment a  pretty  and  stirring  spectacle. 

When  the  first  salvo  swept  to  the  ears  of  the 
nurse  she  looked  up  at  Morgan  with  a  start  of 
amazement.  But  when  the  cheers  went  on  from 
man  to  man,  and  from  company  to  company,  and 
plainly  directed  at  her,  and  when  the  rifles  began 
to  shift  in  emphasis  of  the  cheers,  she  slipped  her 
hand  from  Morgan's  arm  and  brought  it  to  her 
400 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

forehead  in  a  dainty  military  response  that,  more 
than  anything  else  she  could  have  done,  pleased 
the  soldiers  and  marked  her  pride. 

So  it  continued  from  one  division  to  another 
—  for  every  chorusing  shout  the  little  gesture 
of  acknowledgment,  while  on  her  face  was 
a  strange,  transfigured  radiance,  and  in  her  eyes  a 
glory  they  had  never  known  before.  She  made  a 
pathetic  figure  standing  there  in  the  pitiless  noon- 
day sun,  but  a  figure  impressive,  nevertheless,  by 
very  reason  of  its  sadness.  The  left  arm  was 
gone,  and  the  wide  flowing  sleeve  of  her  habit 
had  been  pinned  to  her  breast.  A  red  furrow 
marked  the  trail  of  a  bullet  across  her  cheek,  and 
the  emaciated  form,  the  hollowed  eye-sockets, 
and  the  waxen,  trembling  hand  told  all  too  cer- 
tainly the  long  siege  of  a  hospital  cot. 

When  the  last  hallooing  straggler  had  passed, 
she  turned  and  walked  slowly  away,  Morgan  by 
her  side.  They  were  silent  for  a  time,  and  he 
saw  the  tears  well  up  in  response  to  her  thoughts, 
but  near  the  great  hospital  tent  she  paused  and 
gazed  at  him  appealingly. 

"  Tell  me,  Wilbur,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  do  you 
think  it  was  God  ?  " 

:<  Yes,  Edith,"  he  answered,  quickly  and  gently, 
"  I  think  it  was  God." 

401 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

'You  saw  Channing?"  she  asked,  solemnly. 

"  Yes,  and  still  I  think  it  was  God.  Under- 
stand, Edith,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  your 
crime.  I  have  never  told  you  that  I  thought  con- 
donement  possible,  but,  Edith,  you  have  saved  a 
life  for  the  one  you  took,  and  not  mine  only,  but 
scores  of  others.  I  ask  you  to  think  of  one  great 
truth  God  teaches  us,  —  that  mercy  is  the  next 
thing  to  love.  Edith,  God  spoke  through  those 
men." 

"  O,  Wilbur!  I  want  to  believe  so  —  I  want 
to  believe  so,  but  it  is  too  like  presumption.  I 
am  afraid." 

"  Then  wait,  Edith,  wait  and  work  on.  Peace 
must  come  to  you,  after  all,  from  within." 

She  said  no  more,  and  they  entered  the  tent 
whose  short  history  held  for  her  such  a  record 
of  suffering.  There  were  several  patients  on  the 
cots,  and  these  she  visited  with  deft  attention  to 
their  wants.  Then  she  rejoined  Morgan." 

"  You  will  see  Colonel  Channing?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  gravely ;  "  he  is 
in  command  of  the  post." 

"  I  suppose  that  I  too  must  see  him.  It  will 
be  very  hard,  Wilbur." 

"  It  cannot  be  avoided.    He  will,  though,  I  pre- 


402 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

sume,  remember  —  otherwise  I  lose  my  com- 
mission." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Otherwise  I  shall  make  him  remember." 

"  Wilbur,  I  think  you  know  what  I  am  striving 
for.  It  is  not  conceivable  that  Colonel  Channing 
will  persecute  me.  But  if  he  does,  you  must  say 
nothing.  It  would  be  the  last  straw  if  I  should  be 
the  medium  of  a  breach  between  you  two.  He 
loves  you." 

"  We  shall  know  before  sunset.  I  am  going  to 
see  him  now." 

He  had  hardly  gone  when  she  heard  at  her 
elbow  the  voice  of  the  Spanish  priest,  who  from 
the  day  of  her  arrival  had  been  Edith's  adviser 
and  aid.  He  was  a  very  old  man,  a  man  who 
had  spent  years  in  the  jungle,  and  she  knew 
no  world  but  this  about  him.  He  had  seen  war 
here  and  peace  and  war  again,  but  he  had  gone 
his  simple  way  with  kindness  stronger  in  his 
heart  than  creed;  and  his  service  to  the  ill  and 
wrounded  had  won  him  the  love  of  the  whole 
garrison.  For  Edith,  he  had  a  strong  affection. 
They  had  been  companions  in  the  work  of  relief, 
and  their  long  talks  in  mingled  French  and  Span- 
ish had  cheered  her  and  given  her  courage.  Day 
by  day  her  story  had  slipped  from  her,  and  when 

403 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

he  knew  all  she  found  in  him  the  spirit  of  a 
father.  She  invoked  this  now  when  she  was  so 
sorely  troubled. 

"He  is  here,  padre,"  she  began,  impulsively; 
"  he  came  to-day  at  the  head  of  the  troops." 

He  looked  at  her  puzzled.  Then  he  remem- 
bered. 

"  The  man  for  whom  you  sinned  ?  "  he  said, 
gently. 

"Yes.    What  am  I  to  do?" 

"  You  have  not  seen  him,  my  child  ?  " 

"  No,  father,  but  it  must  be  soon.  I  would 
have  your  advice." 

The  old  priest  looked  away  to  where  the  new 
camp  was  springing  into  being.  He  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  and  Edith  watched  him  anxiously. 
Then  he  spoke. 

"  We  know  not  how  he  comes,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  but  of  this  we  are  sure :  if  he  conies  in  anger 
you  must  accept  it  as  part  of  your  punishment; 
if  he  comes  in  love  —  " 

"  No,  no,  father,  not  that !  " 

"  Ah,  my  child,  strange  things  happen  to  the 
heart,  —  we  cannot  tell,  —  but  if  he  comes  in  love 
you  must  not  waver;  you  must  remember  that 
you  are  a  ward  of  God." 

She  leaned  forward  eagerly. 
404 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"Do  you  mean  it  so,  father?  I,  a  ward  of 
God?  Do  you  say  that  it  is  right  for  me  to 
think  of  Him  as  watching  my  penitence?" 

"  Yes,  and  forgiving  as  well." 

She  did  not  speak  further,  and  in  a  little  while 
he  too  left  her.  She  watched  him  walk  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  camp,  and  she  repeated  his 
phrase  over  and  over  again.  It  was  as  though 
Heaven  had  spoken  to  her  through  a  wise  servant. 

She  went  into  the  tent  and  passed  restlessly 
from  one  cot  to  another.  Then  she  seated  herself 
in  the  draught  of  the  sodden  breeze  at  the  entrance. 

The  memories  excited  by  Channing  crowded 
on  her  thickly.  The  parade-ground  faded  away 
before  the  woods  and  walks  of  Bellamore,  and  far 
in  the  distance  she  saw  the  flash  of  the  Sound  and 
the  white  canvas  of  yachts.  And  at  the  end  of 
every  vision  there  came  another,  that  black 
night  in  the  silent  house  when  —  the  patch  of  sun- 
light at  the  entrance  vanished ;  she  looked  up  — 
in  the  opening  stood  Colonel  Channing. 

She  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant,  her  single 
hand  clutching  at  the  chair  for  a  support.  Doubt 
and  wretchedness  informed  her  features. 

"  Maurice,"  she  stammered,  "I  —  you  —  you 
have  come  to  reproach  me.  Be  merciful." 


405 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

He  gazed  at  her  with  the  long,  interested  stare 
of  one  who  looks  on  a  resurrection. 

"  No,"  he  said,  a  gentle  kindness  making  his 
speech  musical.  "  It  is  not  reproach.  I  am  seek- 
ing peace  myself."  He  paused,  and  she  waited  for 
him  to  go  on.  "  I  should  like  to  hear  from  your 
own  lips  the  story  —  after  that  forgetfulness. 
Can  you  not  leave  the  poor  fellows  awhile?  I 
will  detail  a  sentry." 

She  nodded,  and  waited  as  in  a  dream  while 
he  summoned  a  guard.  Then,  with  never  a 
thought  of  the  searching  Morgan,  she  walked 
away  by  Channing's  side.  They  traversed  the 
blazing  field  to  the  partial  coolness  of  a  little 
wood  near  the  camp.  Here  he  found  for  her  a 
seat  on  a  grassy  mound  and  stood  before  her  in 
an  attitude  of  waiting.  His  manner  was  tender 
and  easy,  and  expressed  a  state  of  mind  altogether 
at  odds  with  her  fear.  He  seemed  to  be  glad  to 
see  her,  and  all  these  weary  months  she  had 
thought  of  him  as  an  avenger  —  if  not  that,  then 
a  man  despoiled  and  broken.  She  had  not  seen 
him  since  the  day  when  on  the  witness-stand  he 
lied  for  both  living  and  dead. 

"  You  hate  me,  I  suppose,  Maurice,"  she  said, 
with  sudden  curiosity.  "  I  robbed  you." 

"  No,"  he  said,  frankly.  "  I  do  not  hate  you, 
406 


A    SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

nor  is  my  feeling  what  it  should  be  in  justice 
to  my  romance.  I  think  sometimes  there  must 
have  been  less  of  love  than  magnetism.  I  recov- 
ered too  quickly." 

"  Maurice,  you  are  trying  to  be  kind." 

"  I  do  not  know.  After  the  first  rebellion  my 
only  thought  for  you  was  pity." 

She  looked  away  from  him,  her  eyes  filling  with 
slow  tears.  He  seemed  so  generous,  so  noble,  that 
the  sorrow  of  her  personal  loss  touched  her.  She 
had  expected  bitterness,  wrath,  all  the  resentment 
that  rages  against  a  grave,  but  instead  he  had 
spoken  of  pity. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  understand,"  she 
began,  hopelessly.  "  I  said  at  the  trial,  if  you 
remember,  that  I  acted  to  save  society." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  wrong.  Afterward  the  truth  came  to 
me.  I  killed  Beatrice  because  I  loved  you.  I 
am  a  murderess." 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " 

"  I  was  more  sorry  for  you  than  for  Beatrice." 

"And  now?" 

"  Now !  O,  Maurice !  how  can  you  ask  such  a 
question?  —  it  is  cruel." 

He  reached  forward  and  took  her  hand  in  his, 
pressing  it  gently. 

407 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  say,  Edith,"  he  whispered, 
"  that  I  was  not  robbed,  but  released  from  a  pas- 
sion that  depended  for  its  life  on  physical  con- 
tact? Suppose  I  were  to  say  that  I  have  waited 
this  day  for  months  and  months  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  the  only  woman  in  the  world  I  have 
ever  loved  ?  " 

Her  hand  shook  in  his,  and  she  leaned  back 
with  a  deadly  faintness. 

"  Too  late,"  she  murmured,  "  it  would  be 
crime.  O,  Maurice !  why  not  before  ?  —  why 
now,  why  now  ?  " 

"  Because  now  I  am  better  prepared  to  love  you 
than  before." 

"  That  would  be  happiness.  I  have  no  right, 
my  life  is  given  to  repentance.  I  have  no  right, 
Maurice,  no  right." 

He  saw  her  exalted  state  and  fell  in  with  the 
mood. 

"  Realise  that  I,  too,  am  not  free  of  reproach," 
he  pleaded.  "  Let  me  help  you  to  work  out 
retribution." 

"What  does  it  mean?"  she  asked,  slowly. 
"  You  see  before  you  the  wreckage  of  soul  and 
body.  If  it  was  not  appealing  before  —  I  cannot 
understand  it.  You  are  sure,  Maurice,"  she  asked, 
quickly,  "  that  you  are  not  Quixotic  ?  " 
408 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  No,"  he  said,  simply,  "  neither  is  it  pity.  I 
love  you." 

"  I  fear  the  judgment  of  God." 

"  I  may  be  the  sign  of  forgiveness.  You  love 
me,  Edith;  why  not  believe  that  from  the  ashes 
may  spring  a  new  life?  " 

•He  moved  to  a  seat  by  her  side.  One  hand  he 
slipped  gently  about  her  waist,  and  with  the 
other  he  drew  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder. 

"  We  will  remember  the  past  as  the  night  before 
dawn,"  he  murmured.  "  We  will  love,  and  forget 
as  we  love.  I  think  it  will  be  pleasing  in  the 
sight  of  Heaven." 

She  made  no  effort  at  demur,  and  the  light  of 
question  faded  from  her  eyes.  Her  mind  was 
a  confusion  of  happiness.  Past  and  present  were 
forgotten.  Joy  dawned  in  the  smile  that  trembled 
on  her  lips.  Then,  like  an  echo  of  doom,  the 
words  of  the  old  priest  swept  back  to  serve  their 
warning,  "  If  he  comes  in  .love  you  must  not 
waver ;  you  must  remember  that  you  are  a  ward 
of  God." 

And  she  had  forgotten  already.  She  who  had 
forfeited  happiness  was  reaching  for  it  now  as 
the  child  for  a  plaything.  She  who  had  forsworn 
the  world  was  wrapped  up  and  lost  in  a  worldly 


409 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

passion.  She  had  denied  Heaven,  was  ready  to 
profit  by  her  crime.  For  one  terrible  moment  she 
suffered  the  agony  of  renunciation;  then  very, 
very  gently  she  disengaged  his  arm  and  rose  to 
her  feet. 

"  No,  no,  Maurice,"  she  whispered,  "  it  cannot 
be."  She  looked  at  him  through  tears.  "  I  have 
tried  —  I  am  trying  still  for  pardon.  Nothing 
else  in  this  world  can  give  me  peace.  I  have 
no  right  to  love,  and  I  dare  not,  Maurice,  I  dare 
not  profit  by  her  death." 

"  My  heart  offers  you  that  very  haven  of 
peace,"  he  cried. 

"  It  is  not  yours  to  offer,"  she  said,  softly, 
"  such  a  union  would  be  condemned  by  God.  It 
would  undo  all  the  sacrifice." 

"  We  are  past  romance,"  he  urged,  "  this  is 
love  that  is  spiritual." 

She  raised  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  cheek. 

"  I  love  you,  dearest,"  she  murmured,  "  but 
there  it  must  end.  God  has  pointed  the  way,  and 
you  would  not  ask  me  to  turn  aside.  We  are  not 
proof  against  nature,  Maurice;  Beatrice  would 
walk  with  us  to  the  altar;  Beatrice  would  live 
with  us  day  by  day  —  sometime  you  would  re- 
mind me,  and  it  would  break  my  heart  afresh." 


410 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

"  Edith,  you  are  wrong,  you  are  cruel.  I 
pledge  myself." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely,  and  her  lips  trem- 
bled. "  I  would  like  to  go  with  you  and  forget," 
she  answered.  "  I  should  like  to  creep  into  your 
arms  and  put  behind  me  the  past.  But, 
Maurice,  even  if  I  could,  there  is  still  the  future, 
—  the  day  of  reckoning.  You  are  asking  me  to 
trade  my  soul  for  my  heart.  I  cannot." 

His  awakened  love  faded  before  this  victory 
of  conscience.  He  was  suddenly  ashamed.  In 
place  of  Heaven's  favour  he  had  offered  her  his 
own.  He  had  forced  her  to  say  which  was 
greater,  his  belated  passion  or  that  spiritual  love 
which  uplifted  her  and  which  gave  her  hope.  It 
wras  thoughtless  and  almost  puerile. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  stammered,  slowly.  "  I  am 
selfish.  I  have  sought  joy  at  the  price  of  your 
peace.  Another  day,  perhaps,  Edith,  but  I  shall 
wait  until  you  are  ready." 

She  heard  him  earnestly  and  with  a  brighten- 
ing face.  Her  hand  was  in  his  and  a  half-smile 
parted  her  lips. 

;'  You  are  kind,  Maurice,  and  noble,"  she  an- 
swered. "  My  work  is  not  done  —  the  rest  not 
yet  mine.  Some  day,  perhaps,  when  God  for- 


411 


A     SOCIAL     COCKATRICE 

gives,  but  not  now  —  "  She  paused,  and  fought 
back  the  last  sting  of  surrender.  "  Come,"  she 
whispered,  tenderly.  "  I  must  go  to  my  soldier 
boys  —  they  may  be  suffering  —  we  will,  go  to- 
gether." 


THE    END. 


412 


The  Master  of  Warlock 

By  GEORGE  GARY  EGGLESTON,  Author  of  "Dor- 
othy South,"  "A  Carolina  Cavalier/'  Six  Illustrations 
by  C.  D.  Williams.  J2mo.  Dark  red  cloth,  illustrated 
cover,  gilt  top,  rough  edges.  Price,  $1.50  each. 

THE  MASTER  OF  WARLOCK  "  has  an  interest- 
ing plot,  and  is  full  of  purity  of  sentiment,  charm  of 
atmosphere,  and  stirring  doings.  One  of  the  typical  family 
feuds  of  Virginia  separates  the  lovers  at  first ;  but,  when 
the  hero  goes  to  the  war,  the  heroine  undergoes  many 
hardships  and  adventures  to  serve  him,  and  they  are  hap- 
pily united  in  the  end. 


Baltimore  Sun  says : 

"  No  writer  in  the  score  and  more  of  novelists  now  ex- 
ploiting the  Southern  field  can,  for  a  moment,  compare  in 
truth  and  interest  to  Mr.  Eggleston.  In  the  novel  before 
us  we  have  a  peculiarly  interesting  picture  of  the  Virginian 
in  the  late  fifties.  We  are  taken  into  the  life  of  the  people. 
We  are  shown  the  hearts  of  men  and  women.  Characters 
are  clearly  drawn,  and  incidents  are  skilfully  presented. 

A  Carolina  Cavalier 

A  STIRRING  TALE  OF  WAR  AND  ADVENTURE 

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true ;  but  as  a  patriotic  novel,  it  is  grand  and  inspiring. 
We  have  seldom  found  a  stronger  and  simpler  appeal  to 
our  manhood  and  love  of  country." 

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The  Captain 


By  CHURCHILL  WILLIAMS,  author  of  ").  Devlin  — 
Boss."  Illustrated  by  A.  I.  Keller.  J2mo.  Dark  red 
cloth,  decorative  cover,  rough  edges.  Price,  $1.50  each. 


TVTHO  is  the  Captain  ?  thousands  of  readers  of  this  fine 
book  ivill  be  asking.  It  is  a  story  of  love  and  war, 
of  scenes  and  characters  before  and  during  the  great  civil 
conflict.  It  has  lots  of  color  and  movement,  and  the  splen- 
did figure  naming  the  book  dominates  the  whole. 


J.  Devlin — Boss 

A    ROMANCE    OF    AMERICAN    POLITICS.     Blue 
cloth,  decorative  cover.     J2mo.    Price,  $1.50. 


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The  Life  Within 


J2mo.    Bound  in  green  cloth,  decorative  cover, 
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'T'HIS  is  a  striking  story  in  which  Christian  Sci- 
ence furnishes  the  motive.  The  author  is 
anonymous,  and  the  story  will  arouse  general  dis- 
cussion as  to  who  is  the  writer  behind  the  book. 
The  wonder-workings  of  this  new  faith  which  have 
come  into  such  wide  popularity  and  influence,  are 
set  forth  in  a  plot  so  enthralling,  that  whatever 
one's  attitude  toward  the  questions  involved,  the 
tale  itself  will  grip  the  attention  and  keep  it  to  the 
end.  Both  Christian  Scientists  and  the  outside  pub- 
lic will  be  immensely  interested  in  the  vivid  scenes 
and  the  tremendous  spiritual  problems  presented  in 
this  able  novel. 


Lothrop  Publishing  Company  -   -  Boston 


Cliveden 


By  KENYON  WEST.    t2mo.   Brown  cloth,  rough  edges. 
Price,  $t.50. 


"  f^LIVEDEN"  is  an  historical  romance  by  Kenyon 
^^  West,  favorably  known  as  the  author  of  sev- 
eral books  of  fiction  and  criticism.  The  story  — 
which  is  quick  in  action,  picturesque  in  scene,  and 
dramatic  in  situation  —  centres  in  the  famous  Chew 
House  in  Germantown,  during  the  Revolutionary 
War,  at  the  time  when  the  battles  of  Brandywine 
and  Germantown  were  being  fought,  and  the  British 
General  Howe  was  threatening  the  native  forces. 
Both  sides  of  the  struggle  are  represented,  the 
American  patriots  and  the  British  redcoats,  and  a 
charming  love-story  is  developed,  in  which  the 
principals  are  a  well-born  American  beauty  and  a 
British  officer  with  a  noble  character.  The  Chew 
residence  is  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  the  attempts 
of  a  British  spy  to  wreck  the  fortunes  of  General 
Washington,  who  is  only  a  few  miles  off,  make 
exciting  reading.  The  volume  is  given  an  appro- 
priate patriotic  dress. 

Lothrop  Publishing  Company  -  -  Boston 


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